Nightmare on Farmington Avenue

The sinking sun ahead of me, I strode 
between the shadows growing on the road,
a sprinkle of people strolling here and there
enjoying the last rays and some fresh air.
My terrier in tow, I reached a belt
of bus stops, shops and eating houses, felt 
it getting a bit too busy on the sidewalk—
too many folks now, not a place where I’d walk.
They kept approaching, though they had been told
to “KEEP YOUR DISTANCE.” Dragging my dog (he’s old),
I hurried to a parking lot and reckoned
we’re safer now. Not more than half-a-second
went by when a sedan backed up. I jumped,
inches from being seriously bumped.
The driver slammed his breaks, said, “Sorry, sorry!”
his accent overseas. I felt like quarry—
He, the lion; I, his prey. Too near!
Though his apology appeared sincere,
he was too near! In paralyzed surprise,
I eyed him, pointed at my eyes, said, “Eyes!”
forgetting the plague. I should have fled instead
of talking. Kept on walking.
                                                 Now my head
keeps chiding me: “Quite soon you will be dead
or end up spending weeks in a lonely bed.
Why didn’t you cut out and keep on going?”
although no symptoms (thus far) have been showing.