Unmarked

I was looking for a space

and hit it going too fast—

felt the car lurch, heard the bag

tip over. In the past

I might have slowed down first.

I pulled into the nearest spot

and got out. The orange juice

was on the floor mat. Not

cracked—just tipped. The bag

spread open on the floor.

I stood outside a minute.

I didn't know what for.

The arrows on the pavement

so faded they were barely

suggesting anything at all.

I stood there. Fairly

still. I picked it up.

I put it back. Got in.

Drove home the long way.

No reason. Thin

excuse for any of it.

The arrows. The bump.

The juice that didn't crack.

The lot. The thump

I didn't see coming.