it seems entirely appropriate
how we slow to stops,
lean out our windows,
shake and curse.
how we ask questions,
check our wrist watches,
mumble the Lord's name.
how we turn the corner slowly
and wind through back streets -
a lurching procession around this intersection
where an ambulance only now begins
to pull away and a forensics team
squats to capture roll upon roll.
from the March 2008 issue of High Altitude Poetry
More of my poems from HAP can be read here.