But not even a sign could save you.
When one of your kind tries to cross
the road — no matter how close, it seems,
you are to one side or the other —
some car seems bound to make straight
your sinewy motion, and someone,
I imagine, looks back
over his or her shoulder, as satisfied
to have gotten you as they might be
to cross some task off their to-do list,
or to fix that one thing they believed
was always wrong with their lives.