I was writing
about this guy
hands in his pockets
navy quilted snow jacket
watchman cap
steel toe shoes,
trudging uphill
cars flying by
spraying grey ice

his toddler running
“ Come on, Daddy!”
flying mittens
lavender snowsuit
braids in barrettes
pink pull-on boots
running ahead,
out of reach
near the traffic

before I could finish
writing about
how far away
the bus stop was
how their breath
froze in the air
how many transfers
it takes to get downtown

before I could mention
the 90X cross-town
the Mid-line bus
Union Station
and the mall shuttle

before I had written about
their rush into daycare
where the greeting was
“ We have to have
payment by tomorrow.”
and the toddler cried,
“ I love you, Daddy.”

or the waiting
for a down elevator
full of black wing-tips
cashmere scarves
and latte mocha grandés
going up

or the brown, polyester
cotton jumpsuit
that says Steve

or the stinkin’
mist down there
down there a few levels
below
the service level

before I could write any of that
I got a phone call:
my divorce attorney
calling about custody

after that
I didn’t get back
to Steve and the toddler