I am waiting at the light, for the light to change.
It doesn’t change. I am alone in the car.
Traffic is normal, average for the time
in this neighborhood I drive through daily.
Here, nothing much of note happens.
Some days are more conceivable, more
promising than others - rainy ones for example.
A hint of sun slips through scudding clouds
to strike parabolas through my windshield’s prism.
Lights will change as expected or otherwise.
The passenger door opens.
A woman slips in, slides across my upholstery.
Wet with rain, she’s not dressed for the weather.
Except for the hat, a rain hat she removes to release
a cascade of hair, sublimely dry and dramatic.
I choose not to identify the color of hair for reasons
that may become apparent after the light changes.
I’ll proceed through this serendipitous morning
into what could be my future, though it may be hers,
with me simply tagging along for the ride.