As they pulled her out of the twisted knot of metal,
the firefighters treaded on crunching shards
with their rubber boots,
and her car’s horn continued to blare in distress.
As she waited for rescue,
barely in this world,
she stared empty-eyed at the deflated air bag
in front of her, smeared with her make up and blood,
like a clown’s shroud of Turin.
She could no longer tell where her car had ended
and his had begun,
she couldn’t see him,
couldn’t hear anything other than the unceasing honk
and the firefighters’ rescue tools,
couldn’t reach her cell phone to call him or text,
saying, “Funny meeting you here.”
She had no energy to speak to the rescuer
who loomed over her occasionally
to give her a thumbs up or brief words of encouragement,
couldn’t even raise the corner of her lips into a smile.
“At least he finally said I was right,” she thought,
closing her eyes and exhaling satisfaction.
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