witness (poem)

OH MY GOD TIM THERE’S PEOPLE IN THE ROAD THERE’S PEOPLE IN THE ROAD

Sunday afternoon getting stuff for a cookout
and the puff of dust
could have been a leftover firework
and the stuff in the road
could have been a tire alligator
(You know those? when a 16-wheeler
loses all its tread and the long curling
bit is left on the road?)
and he jammed on the brakes
and I took one long horrified look
at insides that should not be outside
and ran to stop cars.

Two kids. One dirt bike. One small car
with failing brakes. My hands on my ears screaming like I was six.

STOP YOUR FUCKING CAR THERE’S PEOPLE IN THE ROAD

THERE IS AN ACCIDENT THERE’S PEOPLE IN THE ROAD

TURN AROUND AND GO TO PITTSFIELD FOR YOUR FUCKING GAS

THERE’S PEOPLE IN THE ROAD

I could stop a dually and walk out in traffic
and could not look at
alligator-tire people
and the parts of the bike

STOP YOUR CAR

Crowded little new england road and everything was silent
and no houses in sight and no phone
we were just getting hot dogs for a cookout

STOP YOUR CAR

Sound only resumed when the cops and the life-flight
got there. Helicopters are loud
when they are 20 feet away
and I could sit on the guard rail
away from the accident and shake
and fight to keep my hands off my ears.

Today after yet another shooting
I’m afraid of the cops coming anywhere
for anyone who is not safe like me
because of my skin or my house
or my minivan

they are not

safety is not safety for all

There is no traffic to stop
this is not an accident

OH GOD THERE ARE PEOPLE IN THE ROAD

THERE ARE PEOPLE IN THE ROAD