Hair a coppery red
messy-bolted through with silver
glasses tape-repaired
where left lens meets frame
askew
across strong features
weathered by the sun
she stands tall
strong
kicking up angry dust
handcuffed
beside the road
as red and blue lights
play merrily across the scene

We pass in slow motion
my daughter pauses in her accusations
to point through me
out the open window
“she looks like grandma”
the woman
twists her body
exposing soft white belly
between
unbuttoned jeans
and rudely hiked shirt
spits curses
armless
into strangers’ curiosity
considers
“except for the fact that she’s not, she is grandma”

(which is exactly correct)

continues
if time travel was possible
here you are
now and then
and there
pulled from your car
handcuffed
pants unbuttoned
because they pinch when you drive
also
witness
pants unbuttoned
hair struck by lightning
trying not to see yourself
called to account
for the misdeeds

considers
I wonder if you know

what you’ve done

.