Gabrielle in Arrears
by Bill Yarrow
It's 10:46 in Newark on New Year's Eve.
You're rushing to the Ramada ballroom
for an evening of kisses, hors d'oeuvres,
and darkened drinks. Someone honks.
Unnerved, you swerve to the right, side-
swipe a Buick, slide back across the lane,
flip into a ditch. Doctor Causson warned you
more than once about the consequences of
being distracted. Well, it's too late to resuscitate
advice now. You should be calling 911, waving
at headlights, flagging down trucks, pulling
your bleeding husband from the car. Instead,
you're just staring at your hands, as if, somehow,
they were imperious tools capable of magic.
You're rushing to the Ramada ballroom
for an evening of kisses, hors d'oeuvres,
and darkened drinks. Someone honks.
Unnerved, you swerve to the right, side-
swipe a Buick, slide back across the lane,
flip into a ditch. Doctor Causson warned you
more than once about the consequences of
being distracted. Well, it's too late to resuscitate
advice now. You should be calling 911, waving
at headlights, flagging down trucks, pulling
your bleeding husband from the car. Instead,
you're just staring at your hands, as if, somehow,
they were imperious tools capable of magic.
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105 words
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Author's Note
A version of this poem appeared in Ramshackle Review 4, edited by Mark Reep.
Thanks, Mark!
This poem appears in my chapbook FOURTEEN (Naked Mannekin, 2011).
The poem appears in Pointed Sentences (BlazeVOX, 2012).
Other stories by Bill Yarrow
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Great little vignette, Bill. Sometimes, just freezing and hoping for a rewind is all we can do.*
Great ending. Powerful moment. *
Terrific poem. Love the chapbook so much!
*
Wonderful language movement, line to line, Bill.
"...an evening of kisses, hors d'oeuvres,
and darkened drinks. Someone honks.
Unnerved, you swerve..."
Good piece.
Love how you've paced this so closely to the flash of seconds that go by in an accident. Nicely done, Bill.
Whoa!
fav
Flipping ditches! Too late to resuscitate. Unnerved, I swerved. Read it over again, poetically enriched.
Powerful, Bill, summed up perfectly in the deepness of that last line.
Def fav
The pacing is wow, same for the language. Wonderful last line: "Instead,
you're just staring at your hands, as if, somehow,
they were imperious tools capable of magic." I'm new to Fictionaut and to your work. Look forward to reading more.
So good, perfect description of a moment of shock. *
A perfect poem, a little work of art like so many of yours. A real pleasure to read.
Strong writing, clear images.
Everything about this is perfectly horrible and perfectly magical.
fantastic voice in this*
such a shocking end.
fav