On the way to the neighborhood
Fourth of July parade,
I saw a soap bubble
the size of a small cantaloupe
rolling down the faded center line
of the rain-slick street.
A perfect rainbow orb, running free, until
I pierced it with my glance.
Playing that moment from memory,
I watch the bubble float from origins unknown
over a tall, newly-clipped hedge,
descend over the eastbound lane
and land with intention on the painted yellow line.
My memory also reveals
that by the time I noticed what was happening—
a good-sized soap bubble
rolling down the middle of a wet street—
in that very instant,
it burst.
I asked my husband,
Did you see that bubble rolling down the street?
He had just missed it.