by Robert Grant

To anyone within earshot

it was a head-snapping screech.

 

But by then we were witness

only to what happened after:

 

The man with scared, guilty

eyes exited his vehicle

to check on the woman

lying next to her bicycle—

 

its front tire warped and immovable,

 

the rear tire

 

            making its

                                final

 

                                deliberate

​

                     rotation.

 

I’msosorryI’msosorryI’msosorryI’m

sosorryI’msosorryI’msosorryI’mso

sorryI’msosorryI’msosorryI’mso—

 

“I’m okay,” she said.

 

But she was just a finger snap away.

 

                 .    .    .

 

A week later, I saw that same man run that same stop sign.