Once I cross them (shut as lips on a fist),
the person throws himself into the truck behind me,
thudding towards the motive force facet door as Patsy Cline wails:
I am loopy for making an attempt – getting up the person runs to the subsequent lane
whhaap! He rolls head on the hood, physique on the roof
of a mid-nineties Civic, lands on his ft,
stumbles right into a ready bus, bounces off and again
out into the lanes he’s already crossed
the place a Jeep clips him on the hip, and he spins
till kinetically zeroed right down to the new asphalt. The girl
nonetheless screaming, by no means stopped screaming. The vehicles halted.
I can see cellphoned silhouettes behind steering wheels,
immobile as youngsters of divorce about to snap
from a steep anger that circulates our interior world (nonetheless screaming).
The scene behind me now rising smaller at 10 mph.
And I don’t need to cease anymore at purple lights.
I can really feel it like an engine block making like to a wall.
Like an airbag to my coronary heart, how at instances the second
is absurdly greater than the thoughts can afford.
To return is painful, ahead may destroy you.
Attempt I hear Otis posit, Attempt a bit tenderness.
I’m afraid, haven been given so little,
pondering what may I provide. However there’s acquired to be
one thing higher than excuses of nothing & let be.
I pull to the facet of the street. I’m getting out.
We’ve acquired to strive.
