It’s human nature to seek
the short cut, the cool side
of the pillow, the nearest cave
with dimmed lights and no noise
when the sledgehammers of everyday
despair return to their favorite
construction sites in the brain.
But it’s also human nature to want
to know who else might be in a similar
or maybe slightly worse predicament:
to slow down as you drive past the truck
that flipped over this morning at the inter-
section of Hampton and Bolling, the engine
visibly steaming, blue lights and sirens
blaring toward the scene. Don’t look,
my father might have said that day
years ago as we passed the mangled heap
of a pedicab hit by a bus on the highway,
the driver’s body flung across the ditch—
fearful that the sight of blood and mortal
wounding might undermine my faith
in the world. And then there are those
who leap out of their own vehicles, run
straight into the accident site, go down
on hands and knees, searching through
broken glass for any visible signs of life.