Road Warrior


I strapped myself in,

Oh, so tight.

So my body wouldn't shift,

Left or right. 


Anticipation filled me,

As I rolled up the ramp to brake.

My high tech steed,

Would soon come awake.


With alarms sounding,

And buttons galore.

I followed the sequence,

And she started with a roar.


When everything was set just right,

I eased into gear.

It was just before five,

And I was, "outta here." 


The road home,

A twenty-mile commute.

Is mostly freeway,

With heavy traffic to boot.


As I turned the high ramp,

Into the late afternoon sun.

The freeway was flowing freely;

It looked like a good run.


Passing the constriction,

Of the Downtown Split.

I settled for the middle,

Instead of my usual bit.


Second from the right:

Safer and faster.

When traffic was heavy,

And slower was better.


I was riding the middle,

Of five lanes wide.

Picking up speed,

A Corvette on my right side.


I reached about sixty,

And then eased off.

Admiring a 3000GT in my mirror,

Creamy, smooth and soft.


It came from the right,

Piercing my view.

Around the Corvette,

Like eighty, it flew.


Crossing my track,

Like a wild animal in flight.

A skidding old brown Civic,

To turn day into night.


Locked in slow motion,

I hauled her down.

As the Civic careening,

Crashed with a thunderous sound.


Into an unsuspecting Suburban,

Directly ahead.

And spun it around.

I thought I was dead.


Both cars went into,

A dizzying spin.

Tires screaming, careening,

As I closed in.


The stench of burned rubber,

And black smoke filled the air.

No virtual reality,

I was there.


The Civic flew to the left,

Out of sight

The Suburban, backward,

Slammed into the wall on the right.


The smoke cleared as I crossed

A patchwork of black rubber.

At five miles per hour,

My body reduced to shaking blubber.


Should I stop,

And render aid?

A glance in the mirror,

And my mind up was made.


What help would I,

In a wheel chair be?

The Mitsubishi lay behind,

And the 'Vette, still beside me.


I summoned the courage,

To go on.

Pushed the throttle ahead,

Into the empty beyond.


As I headed home,

Over and over again,

My mind replayed,

Where I'd been.


One second later,

And I'd have been the one.

No longer driving home,

In the afternoon sun.


Would my fragile spine survive,

Such horrendous abuse?

I'm not going to worry,

It's of no use. 


Copyright 1999 (c) Ronald W. Hull



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