Crossing the Line

There is a rush of traffic
as you totter crossing the line
like a teenager on the first date.
some how you take a step further
but then everything flashes before you
in the glass of the running-over car.

You stop.
Not exactly dead.
Not yet.
Loosen your tie to take a breath that
some one of lesser intelligence
some one who could not figure out
the third dimension of things
stopped the wheel over his limbs.

There were no cries for help
I don't think you paid attention.
It was quick and then you crossed the road.
The crows didn't waste time, did they?
they perched on the top of the hoarding and
once in a while cleaned the road, haphazardly
like an early morning sweeper.