Fallen

I stop.

Watch a girl skateboarding down some steps.

I dawdle.

Missing the lights at a crossing.

I examine a notice in the newsagent’s

for a paper delivery person.

I don’t want jobs from Lucy any more.

I walk slowly,

and by the time I am home

Marla is mewling,

crumpled at the bottom of the stairs,

a red blood-pillow beneath her head.