Poetry by Kellie Campbell
Shift
Find the rubber handled ignition key that has slipped down into a pocket of tear in tweed's satin lining.
Button up coat and turn on headlights.
Push the black bar and skim airwaves for a Motown sound.
Listen to N.P.R.'s update on Guantanamo Bay turn into New England's incoming blizzard report.
Feel angry for political caging.
Be thankful for deep treaded snow tires.
Leave the state pavement for dirt roaded home.
Take dirt road and surrender steering to frozen, casted rut.
Follow rut into steep bank.
See road ahead sideways.
Flip car over onto roof.
Hear metal scratch and safety glass split.
See road up side down.
Scream anything obscene.
Calm down.
Scream again.
Turn engine off.
Locate shattered window by cold air rush.
Use seat cushions above to pull your body out.
Get on foot and stumble.
Crawl.
Grasp for full breath but pant.
Unlock your house door.
Have the frozen key stick to your bloody fingers.
Make sure that you don't need an ambulance.
Dial telephone for help.
Find flashlight walk back to wreck.
Make icicle tears.