Good People

He was froggy,
new in town with chaos in his wake,
looking to jump,
but too drunk to know where
or why.

Wet, soaked, loaded,
drifting to the highway
on the edge of the Villages,
he raged, spit and fury,
all fuck you, mother fucker's.

He found himself at the burger joint
at the end of Breaker Bridge.

They fed him,
and when he only became more angry,
they tried to get him to leave.

They, the counter gal,
homeless, on the streets, couch surfing,
despite working full time,
and the short order cook, under educated,
young, thin, but still standing
shoulder to shoulder with a co-worker
against a drunk looking for a fight.

Oustide, they ask him to leave the lot.

He screams, "Fuck you, Bitch!"
gives them the finger, turns to go,
then swings back, fist cocked, arm in motion.
He surges on the counter gal.
Instead of the expected punch,
connecting with her face,
coins launch from his hand, hit her,
as he turns and crosses the highway.

Cars at speed screech to a halt, honk, wait,
as he stumbles, mid-block, dark coat against the night
to the other side.

As soon as traffic returns to its roaring flow,
he spots another transient, shrieks,
steps off the curb, starts back across the street.

There is no lull.

He walk between cars untouched
until he crosses the median.
One step into the fast lane and he's hit
by a speeding SUV.

It takes him, bears him away, breaking
the side mirror, lights, bits of the grill,
up the hood, and throws him
across the asphalt.

Brass buttons from his jeans grind
off and warp on the street.

His body stops a hundred and fifty feet
from the point of impact.
His shoes travel another seventy-five.

His forehead is spit four ways and peeling back.
His hip has a hole
twelve inches long, five inches wide:
tearing the skin, separating the layers of fat,
shredding muscle, exposing the bone.

He's broken, legs and arms awry,
but alive and conscious.

When I arrive, they're the ones comforting him.
Their clothes are wrapped around him,
keeping him warm from the cold and rain.

They're in the street in the storm and spray,
keeping traffic at bay,
the counter girl and cook,
good people in the night.

Comments

[Peppypilotgirl]

This moved me to tears.

[RD]

@PP,

Thank you for the tears and reply.

[Jade]

I can't believe he survived that kind of impact. That was good of the cook and waitress to help.

Was the driver of the SUV OK?

[RD]

He drove off. It was a hit and run.

[Pam]

This makes me weep. These are the people who make up America's backbone.

When are you going to write a book?

[Jade]

So the girl who had the coins thrown in her face by the angry drunk ran over to help... and the complete stranger in the SUV who hit the angry drunk ran away.

Truly sad.

[RD]

@Jade,

Yep.

[Eben]

Very moving.