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Runaway Truck Ramp

It’s your last chance. You checked
your brakes at the stop,
but still they failed.
The sluggish morning
climbing a mountain at twenty,
twenty-five—gone
when you crested,
and now the needle arcs high
across big numbers. It’s all
getting away from you. The truck
gunning down the ‘state,
pine trees whipping by.
Horn blasts drowning your heart.
You flash on a slip of chocks
beneath wheels at the dock,
but all you feel is mean physics
while a ramp waits for you
to hit those rocks,
make the gravel fly,
like love, like ruin.