He Feels His Head Weighing Heavy

He feels his head weighing heavy

On his throat, pitching forward.

His cheeks are flushed, hot, pulsating

And his eyes burn.

 

Twenty-two hundred miles on the road

In personal, record-setting time

Thanks to threatening snows blowing over

The mountains into Boulder,

 

And a gazillion tornadoes coming up from

Texas and pushing him down the

Road (They just got out of Lincoln, NB

Before the twisters hit.)

 

And if anything good, in his mind, came

From the tail-wind, it was the

Average of 37 miles per gallon in a ten-year-

Old Camry and one

 

Segment of the trip averaging 40.4.  As he

Looks back through the rear-view

Mirror, he sees debris (Is that what that is?)

Flying everywhere and

 

At least five bodies and a lot more body

Parts flying up to the window

On the driver’s side and then falling back and

Down hitting the ground just short

 

Of his rear bumper. He thinks about what

He saw fleetingly out of his

Left eye — body parts, bodies, families, heads

Weighing heavy on their throats

 

Pitching forward unable to speak just sporadic-

Ally shriek, otherwise uttering

Guttural sounds of something almost unimaginable.

Cheeks flushed, hands on heads, horror.

 

So many eyes burning from salt water gushing

Or no tears at all, just desert dust

And dryness. He looks forward to the road

Ahead and wonders

 

Why he cared about gas mileage, why he

Concerned himself with his

Heavy head and burning eyes, why he gave

A rip about any of that at all,

 

And why he actually e-mailed family about it.