The Atrium

Bitter November

Rush hour evening
As the sun sets,
While wandering the medium.
Highway freezes,
never saw it coming
The truck side mirror
in the back-
Crushed skull and broken dreams
rolls right to the ground
dead instantly,
Light turns green
Grandmother in tears,
A ghostly jacket
Left by a father-
Now smoking,
Mother hides it all
as a child is in the corner,
with shaking hands
and a sweating forehead,
cries in agony
alone in the dark
while rolling
in the ashes.