it was the spring of 1995

it was the spring of 1995

and I was sightseeing

in downtown seattle

with my college girlfriend julie

and her parents and sister,

up for a visit from austin,

and we were slowing down

to gauge whether it was safe

to continue on through a crosswalk

when a strange man hustled up

from behind us,

turned our way, and without stopping,

called out: “they caught him!

they caught the oklamoma city bomber!”

that’s me, the poet,

hustling up from behind you

to surprise you with important news

you needed to learn from a stranger,

then continuing on my way,

because it sinks in best

and stays in your memory longest

if the information contrasts strongly

with the arbitrary nature

of how it came to you.

but you came to it too —

made the decisions that led you to be

striding down the sidewalk

to the right location at the right moment

to meet me and my message,

so to speak — and that’s the bigger,

harder to perceive lesson here:

you yourself are the breaking news

spreading across the city

of your life every day,

informing everyone that:

“you caught me! you caught me!

but now I’ll be a part of your future history,

like a crucial line in an old poem.”