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Bucky Harris
Poem
Big rig, red, careening through the night
Was that a stopsign on the right?
Lights play in the spiderweb windshield,
The tired trucker failed to yield.
Victorian hands protrude through steel
What will the jaws of life reveal?
Little body, limp twisted mangled,
Her love, the upholstery speckled.
Not left, not right, not even straight?
The only way now is through the gate.
Murderous! That man, this fate.
Innocence thy reward is this?
The airbag smeared with a goodnight kiss.
Augh! To die in teenage bliss!
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