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One Black NightBy Lowell Jaeger QuailBellMagazine.com  Driving home alone, one black night, straining through fog to stay on my side of the centerline as the narrow highway twists and climbs. At the canyon rim, the fog lifts, the road straightens across drowsy miles of wheat stubble . . . . Just me and the stars and up ahead
a cop’s emergency red-blue, red-blue, red-blue pulsing in the sudden luckless distance. And more cops and fire trucks clustering like magpies on roadkill. I slow to the shoulder nearby. Watch the yellow coats and helmets, the black rubber boots, the badges and flashlights jump to the pavement from their battle vans to swarm an overturned semitrailer. And beneath the trailer, a small grey sedan. Just like mine. Except the roof is crushed flat, windows still dripping shards of fractured glass. Like mine. Except I’d stopped for cigarettes ten miles and twenty minutes back. CommentsComments are closed.
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