Red & Blue

We notice the flashing red and blue lights
well before we determine their location.
At least five police cars, maybe more,
maybe in our path, or at the end
of the airport runway or in the bush.
It could be a checkpoint or a collision,
a fire that's gone out or a false alarm.

Our car slows as the officer shines
a light directly into the windshield
as if he thinks we'll try to blow
passed him out of curiosity, naivety,
or an intense need to reach home,
so we stop and let him approach.

The road is closed, he tells us,
brusque, all business and determination.
But then the humanity enters his voice,
It's not a pretty site up there.
The road is closed for another hour.


We ask about the alternative route
and plead for any details he'll spare,
anything to shake loose the images
that have taken root and grow in our minds.
He doesn't hesitate as he spills the precious 
information that they aren't our coworkers--

and that isn't enough but it must be for now.
We K-turn to find another route home.