Red

Chic in her red finery,

so sleek she is as she

roars down the road.

He is the sporty type

he is athlete.

She a driver for his new career -

the apprehensive acrobat.

They meet head on.

He catapults into the air

and somersaults

and he a novice here,

does not land dainty on his feet,

instead lands clumsily,

cracking head on terra firma.

She is non-sentient,

indifferent to his pain,

wipes red tears from her shattered eye.

And he gurgles in his red viscous pool,

eyes her in odd shades of green,

sucks in one last breath, exhales noisily

and he is,   well,    he is dead.

Anna :o]

I had read Claudia’s clue to tonight’s prompt before leaving home.  Around midday, in a hospital grounds, I was talking to a patient and she was explaining to me the cause of her injuries, and the above began to formulate in my mind…but I took her story a little further…

And now, looking at Victoria’s prompt at dVerse – not too sure whether my offering fits the bill of an object poem…  So it is maybe a case of publish and be damned!

Image:  Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

Author:  OppidumNissenae