Harsh angry words. She slams the door.
He leaps to his car; the engine roars.
Bald tires squeal. Gravel spews.
Chickens scatter; dog leaps aside.
Dirt road turns to two-lane black top.
Black top turns to four-lane concrete.
Concrete turns to six-lane freeway.
As anger rages – his speed increases.
Sixty. Seventy. Eighty-five. Ninety.
Cell phone rings.
“I’m on my way.”
Too late. Eyes strayed. Soft shoulder.
Wheels slide. Guardrail smacks. Car flips.
Cell phone rings again. No answer. Never will be.
Just another teenage tragedy.
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