He was in his truck.
Raised up, shiny new, diesel loud.
The sun was out so his windows were open.
Kenny Chesney on the hi fi.
I was on my bicycle.
It has a basket.
Business shorts and dress shoes,
A blazer and a tie.
Stuart Little in his tiny canoe.
The truck was behind me. I was slowing him down.
He revved his engine and shouted over Kenny.
Doubted my commitment to heterosexuality.
When he passed the gentleman “gunned ‘er.”
I could not hear what he said just then,
Thanks to the Doppler effect.
On his back window a decal proclaimed,
A cartoon skull wore a German military helmet.
My thoughts were unkind. Then:
Where was he going in such a hurry?
Did he have an appointment at the shooting range?
Or was his child in the hospital, with a ruptured spleen?
Who hurt you, Oh Metal Mulisha?
Was it an unfortunate moment
In a grade four spelling B?