Ding
It was an impactful moment
the 18-Wheeler just kissed my
near-side panel as it slid on black ice.
My truck jolted and shuddered
as if it had been kicked by a rhino.
Rubber left the air for a tick of time,
and then the vehicle
sat down, rocking back and forth
in the middle of the center lane.
A guy I had momentarily forgot
was clutching the steering wheel.
In that instant,
that old someone shouted "fork,"
then his dry lips
whispered
across long submerged years:
"Mama! It's your baby boy."
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