A Voice From The Wreck – Chad Abushanab

I’m an accident on the south side of the town,

on the outskirts, where the desert holds its ground

against the streetlights’ last defenses. I’m the fire

leaping from the Chevy’s frame to smite the sky

and drain the cool out of the night. I’m the cell phone

in someone’s shaking hand, woken up

by the explosion in the street, the calls for help.

I’m an ambulance, a siren in the dark.

I’m the stoplight. I’m the kid out driving drunk,

vodka on his breath and bile in his throat.

I’m the headlights slamming final recognition.

And when you whisper names like curses

in your room, I’m the smell of gasoline in bloom,

the bloodstained moon behind the clouds.

I guzzle broken bones and busted radiators,

coolant running thick in thirsty gutters.

And if you ever manage to shut your eyes, to sleep,

I’ll wander from the wreckage as you dream.