The Drive Home

by Ryan Kish

These hands are tainted with destruction. 

A normal day, a normal drive. It all seemed so peaceful, 

A wallet lighter, a sameness broken by a mere excursion. 

And then the light; two equal greens bring misunderstanding. 

Misunderstanding brings acceleration. 

At first there's doubt.

 Past performance told me not to worry, 

And present performance whispered that I should. 

The doubt gives way to a flash of inflation, 

These hands are tainted with destruction. 

It happens in an instant; for an instant is all that's needed. 

The scraping, the shattering, the crushing, 

the fuming, the smell, 

the pain, the fear, the regret, 

the sorrow, the guilt, the shame, 

I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, 

But sorry undoes nothing,

 These hands are tainted with destruction. 

They tell me to be happy; 

No life was damaged,

 Only steel and plastic,

 But does that really make it okay?