An automobile wreck lies ahead;
the air is filled with fear and dread.
Police and rescue crews work tirelessly
to cut a badly injured passenger free.
The driver of one vehicle is asleep,
his breathing slow and deep.
His chest pressed tight against
the steering wheel, badly bent,
his windscreen covered in bloodstains.
He wakes to horror and mangled remains,
disoriented by the flashing lights
and jumbled voices in the night.
A solitary policeman sits to my left,
Head in hands, somber and bereft.
He sobs as a five-year old girl,
newly departed from this world,
is placed in a waiting ambulance.
I cry, “Oh God, how can this be?”
It’s impossible to find a logical defense.
Trying to be seen or heard seems pointless,
since I discovered the sleeping driver, was me.
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