I can't deny that when I turned
onto the snow covered hill
in Nick's slick red sedan that
I knew I was placing a bet.
As the car crept down the first
snow crunchy hill
I was transported to this one time
when I was eight
in the backseat of the Buick Regal
my mom was trying to keep 
on the road as we slid like a sled
like butter on a griddle
to Chance's whim.
If my mom can do it...
I think that's right where I was.
Then like ice broken from the burg
and floating out to sea, out to space-
Terrifying Release.
Quiet absence of a teather.
Enormous absence of a teather.
Of course no no nO nO NO NO NO NO
And a sound called a scream
in perfect pitch which I cannot
replicate which left my chest and 
which was my only companion
as I left the promises made by 
the ever gripping ground 
behind me.
My candy apple sleigh elated to be free of 
a master- so EAGER!
Like a puppy out the front door.
A mad bull out the gate. 
A little boy learning to ride a bike
on a road so steep that he can't gain 
control of the brakes or his mind- too fast.
Me, my SKREEM, my deranged sled
skating toward things unlikely to move out of the way.
objects. nouns. heavy hard stuck masses of nouns.
A railroad tie ramp and a mailbox. Gone.
A metal handrail along a stair. Gone.
Car on ramp. Noise of resistant objects at war.
Me, my SKREEM, my lunatic locomotive
charging on like a baby on legs that
can only move faster to keep from falling.
A moment. A real-ization.
A telephone pole.
Simple thought. I am going to hit a telephone pole
like people who hit a telephone pole.
Taking of stock. Cost-benefit analysis.
Pros: maybe I'll just get a little bloodied up-
enough for some time extra time off work
work and school and we can play cards a while.
Cons: maybe I'll die.
Conclusion before impact:
COME ON THEN.
A wet sweat broke.
I was 
allowed to pass. Pass right by.
The rest was the rest.
I'm writing this, so the rest was the rest.
The tired tornado remembered it was just
a car for getting to work, getting food, getting kids.
Came to rest like a proper car.
A normal car. It even glided into someone's
driveway.
Me still shaking. Still skreeming. Still gone.
Not back yet.
Dripping with coffee like a lady in 
a coffee washing machine.
Me, my skreem, my life.
Intact.
As if I left the house to pick up
the answer to how I will face my death.
COME ON THEN.