you veer around the corner
in your automobile from the nineteen eighties
and you see that concrete wall
about to make a face to face acquaintance.


wind back ten years,
that carnival fair
with the prostitute fortune teller
speaking about the death of you
in an automobile,
killing yourself for a child.


update to ten seconds ago,
when you anxiously saw the line of school children
walking beside the street,
remembering those words so long ago
and slowing to a measely five miles an hour.
as you pass the front of the line, you stare over your shoulder
back at them, smiling, speeding up,
and as you turn your head back to face front,
there is an orphan, just feet in front of your car,
and you crank the steering wheel hard to avoid
a crash meeting with fate.

back up five years ago.
a fortune cookie tells you
to beware the lurking danger in the darkness.

five seconds before impact,
there you are avoiding garbage cans
surrounded by the homeless of all shapes and sizes,
ages and stories.

skip back to this morning
where the local horoscope mentions something
about bad omens, and hitting the walls

and now, as if right on cue, bricks
of disgusting colors
instantly stop your forward progress, sending you
through the window that leads to heaven.

All because of a child.

05/23/2009

Posted on 05/23/2009
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