Thin As A Shadow

A stop sign has not
brought us to a standstill
nor have we been
pulled over by a policeman.
This simultaneous
flashing of taillights here
in winter’s gloom
is rush hour’s response to
a higher authority.
The competition to break
the speed limit has
been replaced by the race
of a startled heart.
Without motion, how loud
car radios sound.
But the news is out of date.
With both hands,
steering wheels are gripped.
Nobody honks,
wonders where that phone
went when dropped.
No longer hard as concrete
or solid ground,
a surface thin as a shadow
commands respect.

And to think, a minute ago,
it was merely rain.

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