POEM

At the Wrong Place at the Wrong Time Where the Roads Fork

Moments when destiny twirls on a pin, when life is not spin the bottle for a kiss but spin

the pin for a future.

Driving on a road in Turkey with the windows down. Ahead a truck turns a corner and

rolls, its load of beehives a wreckage. In seconds, a surging swarm, an angry buzz of bees

through the open windows and sting after sting. Almond blossoms swirl through the air

as if at a wedding.

The girl climbs a pyramid, loses her footing, falls.

On a beach in Sumatra a man emerges from forest, brandishes a gun and demands

passports. When told that they are in a safe at a hotel he pockets the gun and disappears.

It is late afternoon when the road forks. To the right the road ascends all the way to

Todos Santos. To the left it descends down to Sacapulas. A couple tells the driver to

stop, intending to walk up to Todos Santos or camp on the way if night falls. The driver

runs a finger across his throat, drives on to Sacapulas.

Stories of every life: belated knowledge of a mistake or an error of judgment, of a wrong

turn or unforeseen occurrences, knowledge that doesn’t save.

It isn’t either or. There are options and possibilities, perhaps parallel universes. In some

you live, in some you die.

The roads fork and fork, the roads continue with or without you.

— published in Grey Sparrow Journal, Issue 27, January 20th, 2016