A carload of poets injured on the highway
in the late afternoon.
The smell of the lumberyard pine on 280
aromatic breeze fills my car as I observe this.
Splat faeries scattered
little bloody notebooks and pens
Mexican air conditioning
affecting my mind with this sight.
Shrivelled red baloon in a tree
near this horrible mess of words and kids.
Bernie looked up and saw the spirit horse
wisping through over the scene.
Lady that smelled like a hospital
Tina didn't like that.
Bitchy red headed doctor
administering extra pain to the banged up poets.
Bernie McBride and Joe Senior, driver and shotgun
Tina and Wispy in the backseat originally
now arranged like fractals
in the large Elsewhere City by-pass ditch.
Nobody was injured seriously, though
too drunk on wine
rubbery flexable poets.
The regular cops said to run 'em in
the cool Alabama State Trooper said
"No, I saw a carload of dead teenagers
here once on this spot. Thank God they're alive..."
-Will Dockery (1996)
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