Predestination

Rupert Lang set out from London,
it was ten minutes to eight.
He meant to travel to the Midlands
to be with his dad in hospital 
in Birmingham. Weather forecast: 
chance of rain.

Peter Smith drove down from Penrith,
he was traveling to Dover
to take the channel tunnel to spend 
the next two weeks vacationing 
with his family in France.

On a section of the M1 south of Birmingham
a Vauxhall Vega, its driver asleep at the wheel, 
jumped the grassy median into the north-bound lanes 
and crashed headlong into a Ford Cortina.

An unclaimed hotel reservation 
and the latest Playboy magazine 
fluttered to rest, side by side, 
on the shoulder close to exit 31.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2009

Poem

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Wesley Avatar
May 14, 2012 at 8:56 AM
It just takes a moment to be over. The lack of detail leaves much to the imagination which great poetry does.
Chircop Avatar
May 3, 2009 at 1:19 PM
predestination--death,never know when,reminder of sad realities-well penned
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