Coefficients Of Friction Poem by Edward Nudelman

In the equation, one speaks
of normal force as something
met on the street—a gentle wind
nudging from behind, a friend
tapping you on the shoulder,
or simply the slow, upward thrust
of pavement, mediating progress.
A large truck loses grip
on the wet street, exerting N ergs.
Simultaneously, your dog lunges
toward a petulant bird, pulling
you from the curb, inches away
from the truck's durable powertrain,
which craters a large building.
Its driver is seriously injured,
but the forces of arbitrary events,
this time, align in your favor—
you've escaped unscathed.
After police take your statement,
you solve for breaking distance,
allowing for variables of fate,
simultaneity and providence.
But no familiar science explains
the odds of elusion. From the chalice
of relief, you draw your hypothesis
and conclusion, demons and angels
notwithstanding, beginning
with your demise, and ending
with palms turned upward.
At home, no one's sympathetic
to your theories, no one's entering
into the spirit or metaphysic—
except perhaps your dog, who seizes
the glistening chunks of food,
falling like manna into her bowl.

- Forthcoming in "Thin Places, " Salmon Poetry,2022