She goes through the yellow light,
because she’s running two miles
two late on a bad hair day.
He doesn’t make it through,
brakes slam and there goes
his morning coffee; maybe he
should pull over to the shoulder.
He doesn’t. Swerves. Wipes. Drives.
He’s behind a car that swerves
across the yellow line. Once. Twice.
Safe driver, good driver,
four-second rule.
Another stop light, extra space.
Green light, green light go.
Coffee guy hesitates, then goes.
Extra safe, have a good day guy follows.
Young driver right behind,
second day with a license,
doesn’t it feel so good to be young?
Oh, but little one, look.
Please, don’t forget to look.
Here come’s a bad day in an
everyday, average car,
you’ll never remember;
right through a red light,
but there’s brake lights,
too late brake lights.
Twisted metal, twisted steel.
Just a bloody mess.
Too young to be gone,
but gone just the same.
An unintended consequence
of someone else’s bad day.


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