He got out of his car
and punched my side mirror,
shattered reflections strewn across the street,
frame hanging on by a wire.
He returned to his car,
reversed,
going one way the wrong way,
before speeding straight ahead
past me
through a yellow light.

He did all this
while I fiddled with my phone
trying to photograph him
and his car
and his license,
then gave up,
attempting to take down his license plate
before the numbers escaped my sieve-brain.

Even in that, I failed
and the scofflaw escaped
scot-free.
I called the cops
but immediately hung up, realizing
I didn’t even catch the state of the vandal.

I could have attacked him.
I could have said “Hey, you!”
I could have chased.
Hell, I could have written down the information
on paper and fucking pen.

Instead,
I did nothing
useful;
merely glancing at the broken glass,
full of many a miniature me
staring back up.