she died on locust street, which seemed proportional to the biblical of such a name if one considers revelations. she wouldn’t have found that amusing; perhaps ironic, for the bible always seemed mean-spirited, as if God didn’t derive enough pleasure after setting up Adam & Eve; even his only begotten son was given the shaft. the car came at her going downtown speeds. metal is to rock, as flesh is to scissor: one two three & she lost the game. eye witnesses offered different accounts: the light was green; the light was red; the walk read go; the car was yellow; the car was gold; there was only one person crossing. a patch of blood marks the spot, a round x on a square concrete mass. one would think that the police would’ve removed it. i guess they felt the midnight street sweepers will wipe it clean, sending a grey dusting of steam, a chemical dream in between mirrored glass buildings. nothing will be left of her passing. does dna float until it touches infinity? interesting, she had just spoke hours before, the street artist told reporters, about not regretting the life she led thus far. if killed tomorrow on my bike (the quote in the paper read) i cannot say that i’d damn the hello, or goodbyes. did anybody cry when they saw her lifeless body? i wonder while turning the final corner. did her veil of pale hair cover her 14 heaven set bones, or spread ghostly against buckled pavement. a rag doll is what one flash reporter stated: not more than 100 pounds, a pink striped maxi sundress creeping almost to her waist, alabaster legs splayed like a baby birds featherless body after flung from its mother’s nest. prairie winds can wreak havoc on the unprepared, especially when the day goes sunny and hot, not a streak of white in a cornflower sky. some say it was the glare, it must have got in her eyes. some say the wind, it must have sent her sideways into the yellow-gold car. some say fate, it was just her day. i wonder what she would say. funny, even in death, life ended like a dramatic poem.
life ended like a dramatic poem: hit & run (after the text)
Posted by angela on 2012/06/24