Going figurative
by Arlene Ang
around curves. A crook of arm,
hand curled around a jigger,
lips that clamp the glass rim.
Too tightly. The car skates
a zigzag on the freeway.
Headlights dark, black lightning.
The moon, caught in a gray net,
clouds like long hair
coming away with the breeze.
Roadside poppies bend
while the guardrail plays catch.
Firemen are always late.
The mess, a kidney-shaped,
chrome red is pried open
like fresh oyster.
Slumped against the wheel,
a figure in clay, head
twisted. The right angle.
Camera flashes go for
the close-up: the open left eye
perforated by metal shard.