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The Cinnamon Peller
by Michael Ondaatje

Amazon.com: Hardcover, Paperback
Barnes & Noble: Paperback

For John, Falling

Men stopped in the heel of sun,
hum of engines evaporated,
the machine displayed itself bellied with mud
and balanced -- immense.

No one ran to where
his tensed muscles curled unusually,
where jaws collected blood,
the hole in his chest the size of fists,
hands clutched to eyes like a blindness

Arched there he made
ridiculous requests for air.
And twelve construction workers
what should they do but surround
or examine the path of falling.

And the press in bright shirts,
a doctor, the foreman scuffing a mound,
men, removing helmets,
the machine above him
shielding out the sun
while he drowned
in the dark of his mouth

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