Rubbernecking on a spring afternoon

Windows wide open;
spring air flowing through
cannot disperse the odours
of rust and must clinging to
the propane canister
securely strapped into the back seat
for refilling.

Traffic stops, unmoving, impatient.
A siren approaches and cars,
already going nowhere,
scramble onto the verge to make way
for the ambulance
on its mission of mercy.

At last it is my turn,
a left turn, then a right,
west under a brilliant afternoon blue.
Firefighters direct traffic
one lane at a time
while emergency medical technicians
secure a man, prone, on the sidewalk.
I rubberneck as I pass
and a fireman smiles, waving me on.

Bumper to bumper we crawl to the light,
straddle the train tracks and hope
there’s no train. I grab a pen and a scrap
to scribble these thoughts
on the flat surface of the horn,
then look up to see a vapour trail exiting a cloud,
straight and insistent as an arrow shaft
without the fletching.