At The Edge Poem by Sheena Blackhall

Police diverted the traffic. Sirens blared,
Little girls being driven to dancing classes
In plumes and tutus, fumed

Why doesn’t he bloody well do it? the taxi driver complained
I call it selfish, holding everyone up, white van man growled
Maybe he thinks he’s an angel, joked the boy, filming the towerblock
It’s a sign of dysfunctional society, the sociologist said
The Lord have mercy, prayed the minister
What’s the betting they cut his giro? moaned the beggar
Will there be much mess? pondered the ghoul
If he jumps now, he’ll hit the evening headlines, cried the TV team

And then, like a newsprint aeroplane, he leapt.
And the traffic moved off again
The day patched up the ripped out page of disruption