And Then There Was a Crash

On the interstate,
pale pavement cracks beneath the tires of
our eighteen wheeler.
Sparks of insight light up the
hollow midnight sky. But really
its just the tire rim
grinding against concrete.
Really its just the engine, catching,
burning, rampaging
its vengeance. Its retaliation.

How dare you drag me along.
How dare you push me.
How dare you use me,
I am not at your command.

Now lines of trees shoot past
bullets of green, a glint of silver.
The road blocks.
The road ends.
The road stops. And on we
go. Stop. She screams.
The muffler flies off. Obliterated
by the trunk of a tree. Fist. Going now.
A trail of blood behind us, pieces
of her left as a reminder. The bumper
gave up on its own accord.
“I am not a support beam.”
You let me fall.

Still. We’ve stopped.
The engine failed. No more life,
not even to moan. Oil oozes out,
drips on. Bark of the trees
poisoned with the magnificent
night sky juice. Sinking in, slowly.
Branches snap in its grasp, guilt.
She’s gone. Our eighteen wheeler.
He ripped her apart.