Chalked

No Body Here

Morning calls,

my groggy body replies;

first the cat's demands

meted out from a tin can,

then yogic breathing,

stretches loosen limbs,

eyes open wider;

blood flows, creaking,

groaning joints move free.

I open my front door,

cross the threshold, step

onto an accident scene,

the body's outline chalked

upon the concrete walkway

mere inches from the doormat

bidding all "WELCOME!"

Chalked images of shoes rest

next to the figure, lined up

as if he were merely sleeping,

a transient who stopped by

having heard about a party,

or so I speculate when I notice

the party popper in – no "on" –

his chalked hand. You know

the ones – they send confetti

and more into the air at the pull

of a simple string. Poor guy

appears nude, his butt outlined

in soft, curved, yellow powder.

A heart placed near the house

completes the picture, perhaps,

or as a message that all is in fun,

a non-malicious game by teens

at a summer party, their thrill

my shock as I take gentle steps

past this crime scene outline

and retrieve my morning paper.