Wednesday, May 29, 2019

Westbound I-90


I wanted to say,
in a calm voice,
“That car is just about
to cut you off.”
Instead, what came out was
“Hey, HEY, SHIT SHIT SHIT!”
as I squeezed shut my eyes
and every muscle in my body
tensed up,
preparing for the deafening sound
of crushing and twisting metal
and a disorienting spin
and landing on our side
or the roof
as flames and smoke
filled the passenger compartment.
You hit the brakes
and swerved a little
while managing simultaneously
to angrily honk the horn.
You then looked at me
with annoyance,
which I realized
when I finally reopened my eyes.
You said I was being
melodramatic.

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