95While piloting my car, the windows down,In giddy blank oblivion of speedDown 95, a truck pulled up beside meWithout a trailer, less than half its wheels,And all the brawn. An awkward, graceless beast,It hauled its loadless load with steadfast speedWhile ten feet dragged behind its shining bulkLike wasted legs. It seemed about to fall.Some miles down the road it gave a snortFrom out its grotesque silver snout, and fellBehind me. Glancing back at it I sawThat it had disappeared beyond the trees—Perhaps to find its other half— I thought,And turned the music up, and carried on.
No OneThe chaos had subsided and he crouched, suddenly old, behind a heap of rubble. The newly calm waters which lapped gently at the shore whispered into wary, jaded ears—I told you so, I told you so—taunting, mocking. And he answered, I am sorry, I am sorry, as he rocked back and forth to the rhythm of placid waves. When with a mustering of will and strength he forced his gaze skyward, he found a twisted alien skeleton, its hundred pairs of gleaming eyes glaring down upon him. Tears mingled now with the water as he forced his head back into the shelter of gnarled hands. The steel beams above him should have wept like leaves in a summer downpour; those monstrous eyes should have crushed in like eggshells; debris should have scrabbled at the ground like so many tortured rats. But the waves continued their litany—I told you so, I told you so—and aloud he cried, "Please, forgive me!" to no one."Please, forgive me—" And no one was there beside him to comfort him. N