Of cloak and hood it came just past sunset

A woman not more than thirty stood aimless,
hands cupped around her trembling mouth in disbelief;
gasping for air,
almost hyperventilating.

standing around the left side of her ajar car door;
glasses barely hanging on,
tears touching the cold concrete,
black hair,
black hoodie
& blue jeans in the falling night.

five or six other vehicles stood still.
onlookers
waiting,
watching,
as the car struck man lay motionless on the ground
at the roadway split.

i drove by helpless,
on to the grocery store i went.
upbeat brass jazz trumpet rang out into the overhead speaker system
and down the isles; not caring someone had just died.

sirens rang out, zipping down the roadway,
past traffic lights,
past glazed doughnut citizens
living vanilla extract lives.

climbing back into my truck
i realized Ivor Winters was reading me aloud
"Before disaster" just before passing the wreck
off a CD i had bought earlier that day.

upon returning home
emergency services had scraped the man off the road,
absent of red & blue flashing lights,
white chalk body outlines,
detectives with tan London fog coats,
fedora hats,
asking questions to bystanders.

and Death took their next victim,
vanishing into the night.