After the corner

The road beneath

is behind me.

The air is still.

Tyres stop spinning —

no traction.

Imitating life:

no resistance

for the car

or for me.

They'll think I meant it —

honestly, I thought about it.

But tonight it was about fun.

I could blame Jack;

he kept the shots coming.

Perhaps Sarah,

with her insistent tales.

Or Luke —

sweet, beautiful Luke —

who did not know I existed.

Now I am the last person

he will exist with.

It feels cliché,

time stretched slow.

I glanced at my passenger,

expecting terror.

Perhaps the illicit cocktail

numbed him.

But deeper: acceptance.

I thought the screaming

would be more —

or even at all.

Only silence.

I didn’t plan this;

it had been a fleeting thought:

a few too many bourbons,

a corner too fast.

A thought made real.

I expected feeling — anything.

Nothing:

a breathless weightlessness,

then the fall.