65 in a 30

65 in a 30
as he rounded the corner in his
new, shiny red sports car, the
tires screeching, leaving rubber
on the pavement and a cloud of
dust and smoke behind in the
quiet suburban neighborhood

65 in a 30
and the radio was screaming
and he screamed along at the top
of his lungs but way off key in
his fuzzy-headed stupor, as the
fumes from his breath fogged up
the windshield and his eyes
watered as he tasted the remnants
of another night on the town

65 in a 30
and all he wanted was to be home
in bed with a bottle of Pepto
and a glass of water, his covers
tucked up tight under his chin
while he thought about how to
explain to his wife who he'd been
with the night before and why
he hadn't come home

65 in a 30
as she rounded the corner on her
new, shiny red trike that she had
just received on her 4th Christmas,
smiling and laughing, her cheeks
round and rosy from the cold and
the excitement of racing up and
down the sidewalk screaming as
loud as her little lungs could

65 in a 30
as he reached down, fumbling
for the knob to hush the voice
blaring out of the stereo, his brain
pounding against the walls of his
skull as sweat dripped from his
forehead and he closed his eyes but
for a second to regain his composure
and wipe away the moisture

65 in a 30
and he never saw little Katie roll
out into the street on her new,
shiny red trike, her head turned
sideways as she looked over at her
mommy standing in the yard, waving
and laughing, one arm around her
husband and her camera in the
other hand

65 in a 30
and the sound was deafening, the
stereo and the high performance
engine and the metal bending and
the glass shattering and the bones
breaking and the screaming and the
crying and the dying

65 in a 30
as the new, shiny red liquid mixed with paint

- Stephen W. Brodie