I almost died on Water Row
one March amidst black ice and snow.
I tried to turn, but skidded straight,
a car approached, I swerved too late.
We crashed head-on along a bend,
hood-to-hood. It seemed the end.

I swore then to avoid a route
whose dangers were no longer moot,
but was lured by a siren's call
deep in the marsh. Or was it Fall?
Each day I drive around my bend,
past death on toward the Wayland end.

It happened in 1997.
Remembered: May 2005

All written material © Bill Schechter, 2016
Contact Bill Schechter