On my way to the bank, food-shopping and picking up nitro glycerine
and the sap on the car bled by the sycamore heavy with summer,     and it wasn’t
particularly sunny or raining,     it wasn’t a negative or a tumbling downwards,     I simply saw
a juggernaut rising     over the horizon on the left. And heard a voice,      my own voice
as though said by another      say ‘enough’      and as the weight of the juggernaut slid
towards me, against the fade out back      drop of existence, hurtling heavily, unstoppable,
on a junction of road meant to pass      I had time to look.      And in a neutral state of feeling,
I willingly drove      forward      in a sudden chance to escape the great weight
of my fate.      But the truck swerved over, blaring its horn      furiously      and passing me
by.      I missed my chance and was left wondering      what great thing intervened      if at all
in my sudden chance to cease      at exactly the right moment.      Did I say
‘enough’      too soon or too softly and it hadn’t gathered strength,      and words
only become commands when they reach a certain level of      intensity
when enough—and really mean it      say it with a quiet resignation      becomes enough.