The Kind of Downpour that Plants Crosses
A flash of headlights catch my attention
driving along the Bluegrass Parkway;
has me thinking speed trap.
My windshield wipers are getting their workouts in
from icky weather I couldn’t quite wait out
before embarking on this visit to family in Owensboro.
A second flash of headlights makes me alert.
This cop must think he’s found a clever spot
if the other side wants to give us all warnings,
but I’ve already adjusted myself to the conditions.
Then there’s a third flash…
a fourth…
The road dips down into a cut though a mountain.
Above, the clouds are low enough for trees to tickle.
The sun is rendered useless by all that floats before it
and the rain
is just
about
to pick
up…
It’s like driving my CAR into a waterfall. And I’m not alone
because everybody else is driving CARS into the torrents
and there are CARS all around me with freshly panicked pilots
and CARS going every which way to adjust to the fact
that wipers at full speed cannot meet this intensity
so there are CARS slowing down and swerving CARS in the shoulders
but it’s hard to make a move because a CAR might be there
and you can’t really stop because from behind there are CARS.
CARS at full speed who haven’t hit the storm, CARS that will need
a space to duck into, CARS pushing through fast as they can, CARS
underestimating roads underwater.
There’s a CAR in the median with six-sided damage
and you pray to God to have angels on standby,
like you pray that your tires maintain traction with the road
and you pray that you don’t end up in the same kind of trouble.
Pray for deliverance; just let the terror end
and then
the rain
just
kind of
stops.
As sudden as it began, it’s over.
Color fills back into the knuckles
but it still takes a while to get back up to speed
as I process this new display of nature’s ferocity.
It’s a long time before I finally remember to turn off my hazards;
I’m just praying. An emergency vehicle goes the other way,
I keep praying. I pray and pray and pray
that everybody makes it through the storm okay
and then,
despite the warning’s complete inability
to convey the dangers ahead,
I flash my headlights at the other side.
12 thoughts on "The Kind of Downpour that Plants Crosses"
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Like the alternating form here, and the capital CARS make the reader feel their number
Had to come back and say that title, too 👊🥊
Wow. Most of us have been there at one time or another. So scary and you did a great job of conveying that.
What a ride! And the reader’s right there, behind the wheel, fighting the panic – well done!
Too much rain! The tension here is great.
The rhythm of this piece and the form builds tension so effectively!
I love the title, and how I felt absolutely panicked caught up in the lines. Well done!
Lovely. And terrifying.
Very intense! Well done!
Wow. This makes me feel like I’m inside the car. And makes me really not want to be inside the car. But I guess that means you did it right, so great job!
Oh, my! I was driving from Lexington to Cincinnati at the same time. It was TERRIFYING! (see what I did there?) Glad you made it–as did I!
Really impressive commitment to form as a means of structuring plot and speed. I think a lot of folks think that the long line is slower, But you teach us a great lesson here that the short line, the abbreviated format, can slow the reader down and produce emphasis along with it. Very skillful and impressive.