John F. McCullagh
A Death In Greenwich Village - Poem by John F. McCullagh
It was windy that night, all those questioned agreed,
when the woman was struck by some falling debris.
It was here on West 12th Street, at the corner of Seventh,
by the condo they’re building on the site of Saint Vincent’s.
A section of plywood had chanced to fall,
driving “Tina” Nguyen head first into a wall.
She fell to the pavement and she struck her head.
They rushed her to Bellevue, but she was already dead.
Was it chance? Was it fate? Was it some Divine plan?
Her death was so random, so hard to understand.
We walk these same streets, so I think you’ll agree
It could have been you. It might have been me.
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