Street Racers

Collage by Shirley Harshenin

I see long skid marks on asphalt,
unprepared surprise in kids eyes
as the tree appears, thick limbs spread,
branches, arms for better-leaved dreams.
Sound of tortured metal, shattered
plastics wraps screams now silent that
linger in still soggy ashes.

Winning - was it that important
that death couldn't wait for old age
and someone's grandchildren's laughter?
That hot adrenaline cocktail
rushed through fuel lines, fed hungry flames,
made the tree forget dying roots
as it anatomized occupants.

Other cars didn't stick around.
Black and whites, red hot siren songs
set motorized hormones in flight,
a midnight anonymity.
Two kids, dead, and sleeping parents
who'll never again hear children
tell them, "See-ya later - goodnight."

*

©
david coyote
6/22/03

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