How unnerving to see one shoe on the road,

waiting to be swept up with the other detritus.

In the gutter rests shards of indicator plastic;

split with indecision, sparkling in the sun like wounds

pointing skyward as though to remedy the breach.

Coasting past parked cars,

I think about long ago,

of a polaroid that hung from my rear view mirror,

pendulous with each gear change,

shadows dancing on the dash.