Afternoon Flight

A willy wagtail, was it?
Perhaps, but no time to check What Bird Is That?
as it wags its way through lanes at lights,
a truck here turning, there a foot
compressing asphalt.
                                          Yes,
I have seen its tail – proud tuft of feathers –
pluckily braving the afternoon rush,
and seen it hover, tentative,
just above Old Geelong Road,
as though not quite prepared to fly.
Sometimes it slips
beneath my sight, and then
it darts, as though to dare the traffic.
None destroy it, yet most – unaware –
continue changing lanes as they
would on any normal Friday.
Stationary, I see its tail
greet the traffic, weekend-bound;
such smallness seems almost defiant here.
Is grace defenceless as we drive?
No: cars resume, as green returns,
yet willy wags the tail, and faith
skips the traffic’s plight.