M. R. (a poem)

Yesterday was very chaotic in Seattle. Between the departure of the Chinese leader, and the crash on the Aurora bridge (which apparently happened at 11:11), I was glad I chose to stick close to home.

/when Mercury turns and runs
/the machinery gives up its ghosts
/everything crashes to a halt

/nobody’s sure what went wrong
/the satellites don’t show a thing
/the word ‘violent’ comes up on TV

/news copters circle above the bridge
/shaky cameras transmit the scene
/panicked calls go straight to voicemail

/and the magic hour is 11:11

/meanwhile, the driver making a U-turn
/narrowly misses hitting my car
/without so much as a glance

(24 September 2015—posted September 25th—brief edit November 9th)