Brake press, knees lock
car skids further off
the road, flinging us out of
like ejected cassettes
the ribbons of our stories
flail in the wind, a man in
blue-black shirt holds the hood
pops open a grin not right,
slams down declaring nothing
coherent, a woman hit-bleeding
holds up her still-born, an extended
tether to her womb. How
can I help when I know
this is not real but my eyes
remain fixed and my knees sweat
on the cream sheets of this
borrowed bed.
-
Follow
Following
Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
rowe 