Flashing lights in the intersection, the blue and red of emergency.
A stand still, waiting for passage, trucks blocking the way;
patience seems to be the fashion of the moment.

Some drivers rising out of their cars to get a better view of the carnage.
Gathered on the corner, spectators whisper suppositions unfounded;
debating, the facts assumed, the cause, the victim, the guilt.

Duffles spill their contents, helter skelter, around the mangled doors--
torn open by the firemen with their hydraulic rescue tools.
Crimson stained medical debris, litters the ground

Gurneys, low and draped with a neatly tucked white sheet, and pillow
wait nearby for their duty, the careful embracing for the ride
When the moment comes a team works together

Braced in protection, held almost lovingly by the burly hands of strength
Each movement a count, each shift a smooth transition
gently ever so gently, the injured lays into the embrace.

Only moments before the gurney slides into the womb of the ambulance.
The blare of its siren announces emergency's intentions,
the race is on as the road ahead clears way.

Only a few moments pass before the fire trucks make way to pass by
Only one lane, but fairness directed by an officer's signal
and soon passing by the scene disclosed

Only a drift, barley moving, allowing perusal of the damage and destruction
curiosity satisfied and opinions resolved leaving it behind
A prayer for the suffering unknown.

09/27/2017

Posted on 09/27/2017
Copyright © 2025 Brian Francis