An Accident
Earwigs from the radio chew past wax to my brain.
Shush shush shush of wipers,
the pasty wheeze of wet cold road cannot distract.
So, my resolve sways left than right, drawing
low back muscles tight, with each argument
breath comes harder. Fists wave as fingers point.
Suited, polished, brass balled men rise between
the road and my eyes,
wail of perfected lies through perfect teeth bring down
barrier after barrier as I am swallowed
in the wide slow maw of death’s valley.
Copyright © John Ozemko | Year Posted 2023
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