In Public Conversations

by kholinar

Fenders crush and mangle;
glass is tossed like a bad hand
to pavement and thru flesh.

Then a dark red rises
on the horizon of dashboards
Bodies stumble out as
bright lights announce,
in hysteria, their tragedy.

…And all in the world
glance sideways
and drive —-
to their parking places
but behind them are left,
doors that will never
be opened again, and eyes
that can never close.