The little gray Car

I saw an empty car parked on a high bridge;
patrol cars cluttered around it. Men in black
peered down to the below, while the traffic
backed up increasingly.

A queue jumper, and a bridge jumper or just
some simpleton gone for a walk? But I think
not. The little gray car stood still and forlorn,
a bit player in a tragedy.

I said a prayer for the poor unfortunate man
or woman; the sadness felt, a story I would
never know. Then I thought of the little gray
car; ignored, still and forlorn.

R