Bright Red Rectangles form... a Wagon!

Bright red sides, constricting
But I shouldn't panic.. no...
Panic says the voice inside;
The alley's filled with snow!

A little wagon, lightning blazed
Pitched and weaved down icy slopes
Its helpless cargo clutching fast
The sides, as houses thundered past.
And looming nearer wooden doom..
Turn the lever, turn us left!
A patch of frozen ground afrights
Quickly slides us to the right.

...I blinked at grey and leaden sky
Wincing, prone upon the snow.
Nothing broken, save my sense
From plowing through the neighbor's fence!
But as I lay and turned to see
That bright-red wagon 'pon the ice
I couldn't help but curse the thing,
"Damn you fisher-price!"