Was I supposed to see them, their
personal storm afflicting them on
the street in the sunshine, as I
applied the brakes before
the yellow light? The man sharply
turning away from the woman at
something she had just said to him;
her look of disbelief, as he strode
across the street at an angle
well in front of my car; his long
strides carrying him beyond my
peripheral vision. The woman
kept looking at him with his index
fingers in his ears, her wry smile
indicating a combination of
perplexity to that of Schadenfreude
because of the man’s irritation to her
to that of her own embarrassment
at such an irascible, fireworks
exploding between them, such
a public unhinging, and the man
mumbling something that could
have been, No, I am not listening
to you say that ever again.
The denouement of the moment
playing out in front of me as I rolled
to a stop at the light, now red,
thinking: I am alone in this world,
and am not partnered with another,
but sometimes I am happy,
beyond expectation, the clear
summer sky above me, blue chicory
flourishing beside the roadside.
