Saturday Night

Steering wheel pressed in fist,

Driving, faintly rapping his fingers,

Lightly, almost napping in thought,

Of her and the way her hair flowed,

And the way the streetlights glowed,

On the night they lost themselves in each other.

But now the sun was bright and glorious,

And all done in fun was wasted,

And wasted was where he would be when the wheels stopped rolling.

So intent on the house, separated,

By three solemn blocks of night street,

(click click click, plastic pine scented tree against the windshield).

Without looking he left the stop sign behind,

And with shallow breath, thought he slept for a second;

Then all was shattered glass and bent metal,

And as stillness came blood coated,

And black spots and shards floated in his eye,

As his head became one with the wheel.

On Friday, Christ hung, suspended in wood,

On Sunday, they say He rose triumphant.

It was Saturday and he was in the shed skin of a car.

 

 

Reviews

[Corset]

Life's ironies, so long we wait for the real thing to come along and then boom big accident, miscalculation, one wrong move and you are scratched from the book of life and love. I do like that you left it our imagination if he will survive or succumb.

[Harley (arbiter)]

Great write. Shows how slacking while driving can really mess up stuff. I know. Read "the unforgiven II" great write

[nigrum homonculus]

whoa was not expecting that at all. well done. you really show vividly the consequences of slacking off while driving. well done. i enjoyed it

[Pencrafter]

Your poem is intense and sobering, reminding us of how quickly our lives can change. Especially at highway speeds an accident can happen in a split second. The graphic depictions of the poem creates some stark images. Very powerful.

[Coyote Poetry]

The strong description create a bad vision. A bad car accident can lead to bad places. I like the story in the poem. A very good ending to the excellent poem.
Coyote