They’d been chatting, all idle, face ahead,

maybe about a restaurant they hoped to go to,

or a couple they had met.

His foot on the pedal, racing not braking:

speeded-up tunnel of blurred sides meshing,

merging, blending to only one fixed point ahead –

the intersection.

Hoping no one would come, his foot gropes for the right place,

a scream from his partner,

his own sickened groan,

but there’s no straight,

it’s T and shop window,

a slowed down second waiting for the smash.

No time for a flash-by of life’s key moments:

what nonsense to think this ever was true –

just the fractured thought of the stupidity of it all.