Screech


Wheels took the edge of the curve in the night.

 

The low screech of

a whimpering animal.

 

The car slid acr

oss the black-top lanes.

 

A rusting crash-barrier

waited to be hit and

broken.

 

Two stiff arms rolled

the steering wheel into the spin.

 

Mindless panic freezes muscles.

 

Maybe music plays.

 

A mile off,

pottering on the hut’s porch,

 

I hear the faint, low

screech of a whimpering animal.

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