WARNING: description of death in a car crash.
The needle climbs and climbs
55 ... 60 ... 70 Nearing its limit 100 ... 105 ... 108 Almost there ... 109 ... 110! The engine is screaming, celebrating its victory. And I come over the ridge and there's a stop sign (I forgot about it) and light from somebody's headlights Slam the brakes tires squealing oh no oh no oh no oh no I'm down to 80 by the time we hit and then we're flying rolling tumbling spinning It takes forever to cover a few feet And all I can think is "What will Mom say?" |
And then it's gone
no pain no fear no terror no fighting Just peace and love and color and music I'm stopped I stand up and the roof offers no obstruction I step towards the light at the end of a tunnel My grandma and my cat come to greet me and I realize I am gone. I don't care too much... something greater awaits I just wish I could tell Mom I'm all right. |
Too much of this poem is based on reality. And yet, I'm glad that
as little of it is real as it is. I actually have a friend who did
bury the speedometer (that one went up to 85) and slid through a stop sign
he forgot about at 60. Fortunately, nobody was coming, but I hate
to go through that intersection to this day. The right-hand column
is a conglomeration of two near-death experiences I've read about and a
little fantasy.
My paternal grandmother died within a few days of my birth. She
was heading home from the hospital after seeing me, and when she crossed
a highway in Starbrick PA, somebody ran a red light and crashed into
her car. She died, and my uncle required surgery, but he's OK now.
My cat died in July 1997 after being hit by a car. We'd just
moved out here more in the country, so the cars were going 60 instead of
30, and she didn't understand that.
(There used to be a comments form here. However, having seen what I get when I make it easy to comment, that form has been indefinitely suspended. I can still be reached by email at <loonxtall@hotmail.com>. I apologize for any inconvenience.)
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