Yesterday, a man crashed in Texas,
survived his mangled family.
Everyone wondered if he could go on.
I remember another who tried.
Met him years after his tragedies,
a math professor,
Amish black beard,
a mountain lion type,
but the personality of a lamb,
quiet, no bleating.
He told us his story
before a campfire,
smoke gets in your eyes.
Old VW van, flower power.
It went off a cliff,
lost all but an infant son.
Time passed. Re-married.
This time his new wife was driving,
another psychedelic van
in the Rockies.
All lost this time.
I looked into his slouched face.
Once onyx eyes as if formed over centuries,
now wild, maybe insane I thought,
as if nothing were too horrible,
as if nothing were forbidden.
Originally published in Down in the Dirt/Scars