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My YouTube Russian car crash wreckophilia 
comes from a bad head on in the family car
near rural Shreveport Louisiana in 1947
when I was a tyke whose favorite berth
was the stowage space behind the back seat
under the wide rear panorama window
of our forest green '42 Chevy Fleetline
last I remember was mom screaming oh Ed
quickly followed by a wild spinning surprise
and waking up in the road shoulder tall grass
a Samaritan blotting the egg sized raspberry
just above my right knee no other injuries
the scar faint but still there like an old sailor tattoo
I can see scraps of his toilet paper roll blotter
fluttering down the levy bank in the breeze
oval red blood blotches on each square
an accordion of hinged Rorschach cut out dolls
the road was wet after a summer shower
which caused the unchecked skid trajectory
into a farm family's oncoming Model A pickup
my mom is laying on the ground unconscious
blood oozing down her forehead and cheek
after hitting the windshield with her face
but strangely I was not concerned with her
or dad the shutterbug who started taking pictures
of the wreck scene a single one of which
remains in a box of album photos in the closet
oddly my only concern was with the Fleetline
front end crumpled bumper mangled and askew
driver side headlight hanging out by its wires
I stood in front of it inconsolable crying out
my car...my car... my car...
over and over as the tow truck backed up
with its hook dangling and chains rattling
God knows what the psychology
of that moment could have been
or today concerning my chronic fascination
with disassembly

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