Sonnet: Roadside Graves
by John Kendall Hawkins
.
You know how it is: you're driving along
down the highway, window down, cool breeze;
pashing out an old CCR song
when --boom -- blow out, face through the windshield, trees.
Time before impact seen in microsecs;
it's slo-mo, strobe light, B-movie excess,
a life recalled among the nervous wrecks,
last thought's the time your hand crept up Faith's dress.
One of those times you want your head on straight
to deal with all the rubberneck strangers
gawking at your gore, measuring your fate,
the narrative arc full of doppelgangers.
The blink of a moment, back to the cave.
A tiny shrine primps up your roadside grave.
