Red Mustang

askew in the intersection square of Sherbrooke and West Broadway:

He stands some feet
from the car, startled
awake from one dream
to find himself locked in another.

We're riveted in gridlock--
yellow tape and pylons delineate the edge
of his territory: a caged animal,
impromptu zoo, he's the first
in a three-ring circus--we stare
thick with onlookers, the sidewalk narrative travels waves of whisper while he turns
around on himself, a music-
box dancer, spinning
a slow nightmare.