One Out of Many

Traffic

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.