Man goes 118mph in a 50mph zone

Things are often better than what the newspaper says about them;

There was a moment when he felt invincible, almost invisible

As he passed the first cop car who timed him at 118 mph and

Decided to give chase, to fill the night with the shriek of siren;

They never understand that nights like these need flight, even

On these backroads, going nowhere, a few beers deep into

The darkness of late night, it just seems right, even the early

Morning eggs him on; cars are built for this, engines need to roar,

Need to feel their destiny fulfilled, the manufacturers’ suggested

Retail speed, even if only for a short time, times just like this one

Wandering these anonymous roads, the blank stare of dark houses,

Of endless trees, like ghosts speeding by on either side, begging

Him to race, to save face, to make his mark, even alone it seems

Monumental, and now it becomes public, 118 in a 50 zone in print,

But they missed it all, the feel of it, the wind, the wheels, the curves

The straightaways, the darkness all around him -- finally taking notice.

                                                                              

                                                                                   J.K. Durick

                 Crime Scene

 

That friendly street, that comfy corner

Get generalized now, like the ones we see

So often on the news, yellow police tape

Stretched, fluttering, various lights flashing,

Blue and red, police huddled in small groups

Discussing details of what happened and

What will happen now, now that the body

Is gone, except for the marks they drew

On the sidewalk, victims leave shadows

Of themselves, like this briefest reminder,

And so the hours of talking and measuring

Begin, details become important we know

From our ample training on endless TV

Police shows, but this time it’s nearby, on

That street we hung out on so often as kids,

On a corner we waited for friends on, and

Never guessed the violence in it all, the danger

Living around us; late night, early morning

Two people arguing, till one shot the other

And now that friendly street and that comfy

Corner are theirs, forever haunted, forever

A crime scene, yellow tape fluttering, lights

Flashing, groups gathering, measuring it all,

Like we see every night on the national news.

 

                                                  J.K. Durick

                         After that, What?

 

“What if?” “And so?” “And then what?” Partial questions,

Like these, lay claim to us, define us, and set so much of

 

What we do in motion, we imagine outcomes, sequences

And consequences, one thing leading to another and then

 

Another, dominoes falling, tap one and watch them all fall;

They bring on a kind of preemptive guilt to stop us in

 

Our literal and/or figurative tracks and plan ahead

Foresee the aftermath of this or that; we know how the

 

Future works, experienced it in our past: the phone call

We made or didn’t make, the truth we admitted when

 

Remaining silent would have worked better, the turn

We took with that bridge to cross, the storm warnings

 

We didn’t heed, didn’t ask “what if?” as we set out and

Learned the answer to “and so?” and “and then what?”

 

                                                              J.K. Durick