Safe Passage
Feb 28 2010


A smooth driver
timing the lights.

I grip the wheel
grim, focused,
push the pedal
to the edge of speed,
hope the yellow holds
a few seconds more.

When I shall breathe easy
crossing the point-of-no-return,
safe passage insured.
The right-of-way
the privileged space
between yellow and red,
where I am untouchable
in my sleek metal pod,
flying through unchecked.

The cross-town traffic
observant, obedient,
the automated signals
clicking through their sequence,
the hail Mary mercy
of time-delayed greens.
This is the clockwork intersection
we never question,
implicitly rely.
And my unblemished record
the effortless drive,
the seamless perfection
of timing each light.

Except for that extra single second,
when even best laid plans go awry.
When a routine trip to the bank
goes somewhere else entirely,
interrupted
by smoking rubber
crumpled steel
shattered glass.

A moment of indecision
is all.
How, in just an instant
there is a before, and an after;
and you will take nothing for granted
again.