Today I died on the freeway
by the overpass on the 427
a hot and relentless August rain
made it too dark to be five thirty
I walked home slowly from work
as you do when you're tired
oh yes, I was sad too
but we all are
it's easy to be sad
when it rains in August
when I reached the overpass
in the middle I leaned over
my hair passed my eyes
and droplets fell
down, down
I thought about it
twenty feet into traffic
the guardrail is never as useful
as a sweet and good-hearted hug
so then I thought better of it
and put my headphones in
I died on the freeway
then got up and kept walking.
A lot of poems about rain and highways recently, but that's only because it's been raining very consistently and I'm on the highway every day. I don't seek out clichés, they find me.
