Attachment

A hawk casually drapes its wings

across a November gust

high above the humped back of

the roller coaster

as across the highway

a young mother lets her small child 

pump gas, handing her a wad of singles 

to pay with when she's finished.

The bell jingles as the little girl 

hurls herself repeatedly against
the service station door

to finally bump it open.

The attendant behind the counter 

looks up from his magazine.

Traffic hisses on the wet road. 

The hawk plummets. 

A tree somewhere holds on tightly

to its remaining leaves.