12-7 Coincidence?

Factual event, many summers ago, while on route to see a mental health client in High Point NC:

Coincidence?

 

A shady side-street camouflages a stop sign

along a familiar route. My mind reconstructs the sign

posted on the other corner as I daydream.

 

My Lumina and an SUV are two particles

fated on a concussion course.

Barely time to slam my eyelids. Projectiles crunch.

Fiberglass and metal crumple like foil.

Glass and plastic shards ricochet on oily asphalt.

 

The SUV revs, vanishes around a corner.

 

He’s a dealer, a bystander says.

 

The Lumina is askew in the crossroad.

Steam rises from the hood.

 

In stunned rapture,

drenched as an icehouse floor,

I find bone and blood are still skin deep.

 

Grace if there ever was any.

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