The policeman stands
Hands on leather clad hips,
His bike idling at the road side
His gaze takes in the scene,
A wrecked car, its roof removed,
Crumpled into the wall, glass everywhere.
He checks his note book.
Five in the car, three DOA.
Two teenage girls survive, probably.
Driver and his pal in the front,
Girlfriends in the back, with
The driver’s younger sister in the middle.
Blood pools in the twisted shell.
Driver, drunk, now dead. Crushed between
The Air-bag and his girl’s unrestrained body.
A life ended at barely eighteen.
His pal a similar story, killed by his date.
At twenty-two, he should have known better.
And the sister, hurled forward
To smash through the windscreen,
And end buried by the remains of the wall.
The policeman swallows bile,
And thinks of his own dear daughters.
Safely asleep at home, oblivious to this carnage.
The policeman looks up,
As Saturday morning dawns.
'What a waste!' his only comment.
No father should have to write this report,
No mother should have to receive this news,
No one deserves to live with this guilt,
The punishment does not match the crime,
But that is physics for you.
Relentless.
By Maurice Johnson
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