Laurie Kuntz
After the Car Crash in the Fog
How often do I take a true Saturday?
Do nothing, but stare into the grey dome of weather.
How often does one survive
The twisted heated metal of the moment?
Time has no mercy,
Only luck that you walked away from the crash site
With burnished ribs.
And, so, today I just sit,
Hold your hand, say little, listen
To the dog bark at strangers
Outside--
Strangers, certainly rushing through a Saturday,
Lives,
Vague and sneaky as fog.
