The pallbearers

They couldn’t make it to the funeral,

so they came to the death.

No time to scatter tears on the already wet freeway

There’s traffic to control and axles to dodge, which separated

from the multi-ton truck, that, riding on raindrops,

clambered over the jersey barrier

and created a new definition for sub-compact.

The mourners were like all the others,

except there were more of them.

Bunched up here, spread out there,

some with headlights on,

They reached from the offramp, back around the bend, up across the valley,

over the hill, and on and on beyond what the eye could see.

Cars and trucks, every color and make, even

the long haul truck with the Hostess Cupcakes --

all lined up and paid respects.

They stole past the concave bowl of crumpled foil,

taking furtive glances,

paying mute homage to an unknown someone,

who abruptly and concisely glimpsed death

on behalf of  the 6 O’clock News.

Queued for miles, they jockeyed to slip

into other lanes that didn’t move,

unable to see beyond 10 carlengths that the road

home would reach past dinner, and they would miss the movie.

We must have cared.

Every motorist’s death diminishes me,

for I am involved in commuting.

--30--