Perched on the rooftop 

he has been spotted.

He becomes the centre of attention.

They fetch their binochulars

to take a closer look.

With their ropes and ladders they try to reach him,

calling him, coaxing him down.

If he’s not careful he is going to fall.

He is sending a text message out to his family

‘Goodbye, I love you all.’

He’s getting his fifteen minutes of fame judging by the

crowd that’s gathered.

Now he can fill his address book with

contacts to pour out his problems.

People listen eagerly, sympathize and dry his eyes.

Men relate to him

‘I’ve been where you are son.’

Women with handkerchiefs

He might get a shag out of it.

In a house across the street

a businessman

looks around the empty room.

The voices says

‘come on buddy, one last look… lets go.’

He says goodbye to things

and leaving his half empty wine glass on the table

Locks the door.

His mind  is a blur,

all he can see is a haze,

and the voice  says

‘lets get this done son.’

He finds himself in the darkness of the park.

How did he get there?

The railings of the bridge

make shadows of prison bars.

He is hypnotized by the icy November river,

and the voice says

‘here we are.’

There is rustling and flapping

of small birds disturbed from their nest.

The ice crack,

the alarm call of blackbirds

and sqwake of water fowl,

irritable at being wakened

from their slumber.