The motorcade moves stately and slow
through the oddly intimate space
Above, in the book depository window
a nail-thin shadow
The first shot disorients the driver–
and he slows down–even more
Then the second
Then the third
Finally he zooms under the overpass
There is a copper penny taste in your mouth
and a roaring in your ears
Your arms fly up to embrace
the awful change that is coming
Your vision narrows
The bleached world begins to tilt
A magpie in the tree by the road
A song you heard your mother hum
when she walked you to church
Soon will come the caisson and the drums
But right now, just the magpie
and the humming
