selfie
Thinking a lot about suicide
gives his life meaning and structure
separates the ephemeral from the puncture
that caused the crash fifty-two years ago
that killed his mother and brother
but left him unscathed with hardly
a scratch, just an inane ability
to recall the moment of impact
his VW bug colliding head-on
with the fucked-up scrap iron truck
that was in the wrong lane
because of the puncture
that caused him to lose control
with only one headlight
which made him think he was about
to hit a stupid motorcyclist
when normally he was trying
to refrain from swerving into
some unlucky son-of-a-bitch
who woke up that morning
without any inkling that somebody
namely him, who felt thinking a lot
about suicide gave his life
structure and meaning, was going
to crash into someone without blinking.
