I turn     the ignition, foot to the pedal and shift into gear     in a remote
country lane     and they say suicides are happening all over the place
and I wonder why they don’t happen     more often
I ease the car round the bend when I see this guy     heavy built     a double chin
not fit for youth     and carrying an old man way     of walking
as if he stepped into his father’s shoes     too soon     He has a shotgun cocked open and set
for pheasant hunting having landed all out of context with the times     and the clouds
are churning low on the earth     Looming on the radio     is another mass shooting
today it’s Norway     What stops him locking that barrel in place     and taking me out
I slow as I near and he nods     before I hit the highway with its oncoming cars whirling past
and only a thin line     painted between us     a few unstable feet
and all it would take is a twist of the wheel     to burn a hole     in existence
you stay on your side and I’ll stay on mine     our grip on life so tight
white knuckled on the wheel