Sometimes you lose control
of the car
so suddenly that it
flies spectacularly out
into the night
headlights staring up at God
bumper smiling at the
black nothingness
that has enveloped the world
(so quickly
does the sun die
in these times)
while inside
arms flailing
teeth grinding down
everything slows down for that
one final elongated second
as your mind
shows you old reruns of
bad sitcoms
instead of anything that was
monumental or important
and you abhor the fact that the
very last thing you’re going to see
before you die
is Bill Cosby’s face
as the car twirls as would a baton
in the hands of an angry cheerleader.

This is it, Man (you say to yourself).
Get ready.
I’m ready.

I’m so not ready.

The impact arrives as suddenly
as Christmas.
The car tumbles rolls and
pirouettes
like a rogue ballerina
until it turns over
one more time
-twitches, whines and finally
dies.

You open one eye.
It is still functioning so you
gamble to open the other.

You look down at yourself:
arms still there.
Legs, check.

Your manhood
will probably still function
after this and there is
nothing clamping you down or
sticking through you.

You are not part of the car.

Seeing that you’re not
completely wrecked
like the metallic shell that
surrounds you
you crawl out of where the
windshield once was and survey
the trail of glass and metal that
you have just donated to the highway.

That was close.
Too close.
Way too close.

When you going to learn?
Man,
when you going to learn?

Well, your cheque has not been cashed
this time.
It’s good to be alive
and stupid because God
must want you to live for the
sheer entertainment value.
He’s probably up there sitting
with his hand in the popcorn
delightfully confounded by
what a raving Jackass you truly are.

You could say that you’re not
going to do this again.

You could say it but instead
you wipe your jacket down
smile at the night
and head towards the conglomeration
of pinhead lights that signal
a nearby town

looking for a new ride to break.