The Crossing Guard
The Crossing Guard stands in the pouring rain, a lonely vigil of
one. Her neon yellow vest cuts through the gloom and although it
pours, she has no umbrella. Her sign held high, she wards off the
careless ones, the cell phone obsessed masses always in a hurry,
never slowing down. The ones who tap their brakes once before turning
right into her corner, barreling through the two crosswalks she has
been entrusted with. She guards the children in her care, putting her
body in front of them and all imminent danger. She feels their joy,
she feels their sadness. The anxious child, waiting in vain for a
father stuck in traffic, a mother running late. The Crossing Guard
has seen it all, felt it all. The anger of a parent chastising her
for not directing traffic properly or the impatience of the harried
spilling coffee onto their laps from the sudden stop. Damn you,
Crossing Guard! Yet, she is there, rain or shine, sleet or snow, just
as vigilant as the mailman but not paid nearly as much. Horns
blaring, children laughing, sign blowing away as she tries to hold
onto it in the intense wind. The Crossing Guard is always watching,
always waiting but you will never see her for the Crossing Guard was
struck and killed two years ago. Mowed down in the very street she
tried to protect. Yet she is there still, waiting and watching,
watching and waiting. Can you see her mangled countenance, ripped
scalp hanging over a smashed in face, tire tracks seared into her
yellow vest? No? Well, put down the cell phone my friend and take a
good look. For she can see you and she is always watching.....
![[send message]](https://www.writerscafe.org/images/mail.png){kind=small}
![[befriend]](https://www.writerscafe.org/images/friend.png){kind=small}
Share This
Email
Facebook
Twitter
Read Request
My Library
Flag Writing
