Two women have had a fender bender
to start their days.
One drives her dinged rear across opposing traffic lanes
to beach half of her sedan on the safety of a sidewalk,
the other stops on a dime's width
from the sight of the two mile per hour collision
to park in the right of two lanes and swing her door
full into the left of two lanes.
Both have cellphones at ears
flying teary streamers
watching traffic back and back and back
like a kitchen sink, fingers sweating in the pages of
never used and grease coated phonebooks from fridge tops.
The mail carrier shakes his head
passing you for a second time on his way back to his truck.
The potential is real.
You will not make it to work before lunch.
