In the rain and wind my umbrella protects me:
it stops anything except large metal objects
that compete on the street to dissect me.
And all goes well in the rain and the blast
and I duck around puddles and passing splashes
until I am challenged by a car turning fast.
Cold eyes at the wheel, waiting in the lane casually:
large wet black car, driver watches at my eyes;
but soon as cars pass, tires screech: casualty.
I leap clear, throw him a glance to match his stare:
I’m too old to dodge cars; he’s too psychotic to drive.
I shake, wondering what if I had just stood there.
