Crater in the Street

My tire burst—just like that—

a flat jolt, the car lurching forward,

asphalt yawning beneath the headlight’s glare.

A pothole crater filled with rain,

like a dark eye staring up from cracked skin.

The water swelled and trembled,

a dirty mirror shaking with my weight.

Last night’s road was a secret trap,

a wound nobody patched.

I counted every jagged edge

before the wheel hit the soft black pain.

That crater never promised safety,

a hollow that caught the careless,

spitting gravel and wet surprise

into the bottom of my day.