Dubs

I know everyone says it, or thinks it; if only something had been different that day. If only I hadn't forgotten my lunch at home and gone back. If only I had stopped to get my afternoon coffee. If only I wasn't planning to see a play that night. If only the game wasn't during rush hour. If only we hadn't had that fight before I left. If only I had turned right instead of left.

That was my story. That was my shock. We drove from her house, beginning on a long journey to his soccer tournament. Blaine. We could go 35, or we could go 100. We sat. The stop sign weighed our decision silently. We aired on the side of caution, knowing its ways, and so chose 100 instead.

Favored melodies danced in our ears. Idle chatter left our lips. Laughter here and there. Me, the occasional raged-roadie ramble. Our phones rang aimlessly.

The game was canceled. The coach didn't show. "He was on the bridge." What bridge? We interrogated.

I didn't even know it was a bridge.

Metra

And quiet rumble
Of slow-moving silver bullet
Ineffectual, as it were

Quiet murmurs of tired souls

[And I am missing you
Though I don’t deserve to –
Hardly know you
In truth]

Two whisper to each other
As they brush past
This one dances a little
Then shivers

Stops.
Gives a song
And returns its half-hearted effort.
We go on.