When a car crashes,
Emphasis is always placed on:
The condition of the car.
Nobody talks about:
The 32-oz. cup of Dr. Pepper that was in the cup-holder,
Spilt on impact, no longer someone’s caffeine relief,
Now sticky raindrops that will never evaporate.
The assortment of hoodies, lost math assignments, and Nature Valley wrappers,
Compiled over time into some strange mixture of-
Closet, black hole, and trash can,
Lifeless scraps of fabric, the dog ate my homework, and I’ll throw that away later,
Never to be worn, turned in, or thrown away – memories amongst wreckage.
The spare change in the ash tray,
Tossed into the space-time continuum for but a moment,
(Nobody called heads or tails)
Never to purchase a frosty or win an oversized bear at a nickel arcade,
But to permanently reside on the pavement-