I turn the wrong corner
and I’m stuck in a line up of cars
behind the garbage truck.

The road has been reduced
to one lane due to snow.
The kid walking by wearing

a South American cap — the one
with tassels so it looks like you
have braids — glares at me

as I smile at him; in passing he reveals
the snow bank lining the sidewalk,
scrawled with canine urine graffiti.

I’d like to say “Look up people,
it’s a bright day — see how that sun
shines, it’s getting warmer every moment.”

Our line moves on, cars shuffle forward,
and as we move past the garbage truck,
now brilliant auburn in setting sun,

our cars paint silhouettes on its side,
a flickering parade of etched moments,
a roadside film made by camera refuse.