I saw the car and kept driving

I saw the car and kept driving.

The figure stood there, arm up or down, I couldn't tell—

didn't look long enough to know.

Red lights bounced off the road slick with something,

rain or oil or the just-cleaned asphalt

of a place where nothing is supposed to happen.

I could have pulled over.

I could have stopped.

Instead I watched the hazard flash

in my side mirror get smaller,

smaller, gone.

At the next exit I thought about it.

At the exit after that, I stopped thinking.

Now I'm here three weeks later

remembering a silhouette

I never actually saw.