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Another Postponement
of Destruction
by Henry Taylor

Banging out the kitchen door,
I kicked before I saw it
a thick glass baking dish
I'd set outside for dogs
the night before. It skidded
to the top step, teetered, tipped
into an undulating slide from step
to step, almost stopped
halfway down, then lunged
on toward concrete, and I froze
to watch it splinter when it hit.
Instead, it kissed the concrete
like a skipping stone, and rang
to rest in frost-stiffened grass.
Retrieving it, I suddenly felt
my neck-cords letting go
of something like a mask
of tragedy. I washed the dish
and put it in its place,
then launched myself into
a rescued day.

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