Written Pyramids

They were balanced precariously in too-full bags; their green leaves sticking out of the top. I walk past a construction site and they thwip thwip against a fence.

Crossing the street, I feel something brush my ankle and one of my leeks is on the ground. I double back, and as I turn back around the other one falls. I'm out of time for retrieving it. Standing on the sidewalk, I watch two cars miss the leaves before the third drives over them. The leek still looks intact.

Two days later, I think it's gone. Crossing the street, I notice  a web of white crushed into the street. As if the leek had silk hidden inside.