The Fear

Posted on Updated on

Fingers grasping at the wind as the car speeds down the road,
Grazing the invisible evidence of nature and human destruction
With the crackling stems of her hand.
Perhaps she wasn’t getting enough calcium to foster quiet bones
That didn’t creak when flexed or yawn when still wide awake.

She feared one day her hands will mimic a recent ancestor’s:
Arthritis crippling her crackling bones and twisting them,
Taking away her ability to tap away time.

What else she fears is a careless driver with tunnel-vision:
The only sight ahead is the destination
And all else is an obsolete obstacle meant to be in rear-view.
These drivers would stretch their arms across sanctioned lines!
They would break human capability to whisk away another road warrior
Because we humans are known for deadly competitiveness
In honor of our fool-ridden obsession with brevity.

While her hand continues to graze the long whistle of Mother Nature,
She fears of the grime steadily converging on her hand.
The pollution and absence of advocation for its solution
Covering her hand and blackening her veins and clogging her heart.
Her pores will fill with the opposite of health
And produce pimples so alive, them seem to be sirens
To notify all she’s allergic to the inhumane world surrounding her.

She fears that the concrete roadways linking the sky above them
Would collapse on her hand,
And just her hand.
Not an effect on another livelihood except the one
Of her own hand.
It would be broken to the severest degree.
Arthritis would settle in during the winter, dooming her —
And only her —
To a life of creaky, twisted, crippling misery.
A careless driver would stretch out to further damage her hand,
Causing an open wound to appear for grime to seep in.
She would get an infection in her injured hand.
The infection would travel and slice through her blood cells,
Causing her death from rapid cell mutation,
Or cancer as they say.
Such an untimely demise
Before she truly used her will to be alive.

She always fears.
She always will,
But she still puts her hand out the window.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s