Once they made it through the intersection
the youngest garbageman
improvised a splint with a downed elm branch—

I forgot to detail that the jumper
leapt from beside the hanging Monet
into a wild hailstorm, tree limbs
falling all around them. Only the oldest
of these three sanitation men
remembered that evening to tell
his wife and children about the rich
SOB who made them late
in their rounds—adding
it was bad enough with that damn storm
spitting glass at us all morning.