A.P. Balthazar is a writer from the Washington, D.C., area. She has work forthcoming in Some Words, Ape House, Badlands and Trampoline Poetry. More of her work is at apbalthazar.mataroa.blog, and more poetry from The Feedsack is here.
Accident
Like halos, the sodium lamps defend an overturned motorcycle against increments of darkness, shifting its contours from verb to hagiography. Its fenders glint as if praying. The occupants of passing cars gape— hierodules of a nameless being who crawls through gashes in the earth. They mutate roadside disaster into metaphor imparting the dangers of folly. ‘The lead actor is missing,’ they think, ‘but we know where he went.’ The whole scene bathed in red and blue. In the morning, a woman will scream. Next week, she will place a cross and flowers at the intersection where taillights blur.
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