It came into my head last Tuesday:
a simple side-step off the pavement
in front of a truck.
I had to fight the urge,
I had to physically not step:
I had to not satisfy the curiosity,
to not experience the oblivion.
It might be on page seven
of the local newspaper -
forever famous as that bloke
who just ended it all like that.
It would be a selfless fame:
more noble than X-Factor or
Britain's Got Talent.
More authentic than Big Brother.
It wouldn't be my own
mediocrity that defined me;
or even the flowers on nearby
railings that might be left;
but the act. There is no name
to remember: no whatsisface that
sang whatdoyoucallit? Just that
bloke who stepped.
Now, every lunchtime I walk
close to the curb, knowing I'm just
a step away from
--Ashley Fisher was born in South Cumbria, England in 1976 and currently lives in East Yorkshire. He edits the poetry magazine "Turbulence".