Poem created in response to Robert Lee Brewer’s 2011 April PAD Challenge: Day 21, 21 Apr 2011.
That nagging tickle,
Macht Nichts. It is past.
One For The Road? Second Thoughts…
Let’s count to ten
and break down
what happens when a car
going fifty-five miles per hour
hits a tree and the driver
is sans seat belt and air bag.
One. The front bumper
and grill collapse.
Two. The hood crumples,
rear wheels rise from ground,
tree receives hug from fenders.
Three. The steering wheel disintegrates.
Four. The car’s rear end continues
moving forward at thirty-five
miles per hour, but the driver
continues at fifty-five.
Five. The driver is impaled
on steering column,
blood rushing into lungs.
Six. The impact rips feet from shoes,
the brake pedal breaks off, the frame buckles,
and the driver’s head slams the windshield
as the rear wheels come back to the ground,
Seven. Hinges rip loose, doors fly open,
and seats break free
striking driver from behind, but
the driver isn’t bothered…
he’s already dead.
Ten. These last three TENTHS
of a SECOND mean nothing
to the driver.
***I know this isn’t pretty -fairly gruesome, actually. I saw something similar to this on the orderly room bulletin board years ago when I was in the Army and it has stuck with me… popped into my head while thinking about seconds… one second, actually.