Accidental Collision

*

Even a little is too much, if it’s blood,

if it covers your son, in the front seat

of the truck, driven too fast, accidentally,

into the side of a bus. Now, in your lap,

he doesn’t move and you can’t bring

yourself to prod him, although every stinging

nerve wants you to try. What if he doesn’t?

You’re paralyzed by what you can’t think.

Mother was what you grasped, but now…

Your thoughts spill out over each other, bills,

Southern Comfort, his death, they still whisper.

They blame you because you’re the one left.

The boy moves. He laughs, and you can’t breathe.

You hadn’t even pleaded yet. Later, you’ll know

that a lip can bleed a lot, from even a small

piece torn out. This will be a close call story;

a reprieve, with laughter disguised significance, the one

you recall when someone cries about hitting bottom.

You’ll remember that you lost him in that moment

and have never been convinced you got him back.

-Brent Allard

High Noon

The noonday train will bring Frank Miller.
If I’m a man I must be brave
And I must face that deadly killer
Or lie a coward, a craven coward,
Or lie a coward in my grave.

-Do Not Forsake Me [The Ballad of High Noon]  by Ned Washington

We weren’t exactly friends, I’ve said.

But, that isn't exactly right or wasn't always.

We were once. The dislike we grew into

was only possible through some knowledge

and sometimes, even then, it changed.

I still don’t know all the reasons, motivations,

how much was you or me, how much just routine.

The things you said, weren’t all untrue, but still,

I know they felt like truth, for you,

so wrapped up in your scheming,

you couldn’t help but convolute a line.

I couldn’t help but call you on it,

when you sat with the kitchen lights out,

drinking black coffee, sighing out storm clouds

until I couldn’t help but hear you.

You were angry at being confronted.

But what else was there to do?

High Noon, you said later, called me Will Kane

to your Frank Miller. You said, “There’s nothing

noble about saving those who don’t deserve it.”

But let’s go to the clock on the wall again,

the train coming closer. You meet it,

or trail what you didn’t do behind you.

I thought someday we’d patch things up,

laugh about Marshals, trains and villains,

because nothing is ever as easy as that.

But the clock on the wall kept ticking

life kept going, and so easily, you were a part

of the past. A couple more ticks and you were gone.

I wish it were more like a movie,

the unresolved wrapped up by the end,

but it’s never as easy as that. You were

your own Will Kane, your own Frank Miller.

You had your train, your clock. There's little I could add,

except to say that I'd side with John Wayne if I could,

this time, and have your Sheriff be the one from Rio Bravo.

                           

                                  -Brent Allard