One Out of Many

By Brooke Budewig 

Among the streets at night
Traffic everywhere,
Active all around.

The cars roar close by:
My heart pounds out hip-hop.
They are much to close.

As I drive or walk,
As I wander around 
It continues, closer. 

Upon me it piles 
Giant, metal junk 
Then collapses on me.

I cannot escape 
all the busy traffic 
and wrecked lives. 

I will not scream. No,
I will not call for help. 
I can get out alone.

 I am then encased;
Trapped by wrecked traffic.
So disabled, I die.

As I descend I glimpse
Those unscathed by traffic,
Those on a narrow path.

I start to shake;
I fall to the ground;
I wail and I gnash my teeth.

Sirens wail the sad news,
as more cars pile up.
One upon another.

I am merely one death-
one out of many.
Many will still perish.