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seven twenty
we hit a moose this morning,
seven twenty, just like that, like
coffee in my lap,
the window on the passenger side
exploded without warning,
and I blacked out, woke up, thought I was
dead because I couldn't breathe,
couldn't make a sound,
didn't have any air
and time didn't slow down
there was glass in my hair
and my mother was saying my name, when I
came to all I could do was yell,
what the f*** what the f*** what the f***,
there were a thousand colours in that shattered
second between the normalcy and the terror,
the horror, the ache, shaking hands, bite your lip
scream silently that everyone is alright
and the rearview mirror had flown
into my lap, wires hanging out, glass broken
black plastic in my hand and I'm taking
this as a definitive sign
not to look back,
because I can't;
the rearview mirror is broken.
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"Never let the future disturb you. You will meet it, if you have to, with the same weapons of reason which today arm you against the present." --Marcus Aurelius