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Near Everetts Foods, where good Polish sausage
is sold at $3.59 a pound and soggy nests
of bread cross the second t, a man pulled beside me.
At first I thought he'd like to turn, so I pressed less
on the clutch and inched ahead. He stayed
by my side. I waited. And when
the light turned green, he must have kicked
his foot down the full three inches,
because his tires noisily slipped around on the asphalt
and he plowed ahead, placing himself in front of me
as we drove.
Something caused me to be upset and then,
with the same something, sorry
for him. He was alone in there and the paint
was brighter than the Minnesota Fall's leaves where
Marshall meets Lake and the waxy red reflects
up at those willing to look down.