The intersection coming into view
Is a slow motion silent
Moving picture. A fountain
Of glass showers the road
From a front headlight bounced
Off the rear bumper of a car
That seems to have overshot the stop sign.
Trying to comprehend we watch
A hit and run scenario
Unwind. The wavering offender,
Turn signal still blinking,
Like a mechanized rabbit nipped
By a racetrack greyhound, disappears.
What will Jessica Fletcher
Think of us for not memorizing
The license plate? Meanwhile,
The confused victim sits
Stalled on the state highway.
A flash flood of beach
Traffic surges into sight.
But help, we note, is at hand.
Two women wearing aprons
Run from the firehouse kitchen.
One, like a French gendarme
In the the Place de la Concorde, tames
Stampeding vehicles to a snail’s pace.
The other wields a pushbroom.
As swiftly as a hockey forward
Dribbling the puck for a goal,
She herds the broken glass
To the roadside, marshalling
Into her parade the still dazed
Driver. At last we make
Our move, saluting the resduers
For speed and savoir faire.
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