Road's Mouth

It came for us quick,

that black gulp in the road.

A lurch like a punch to the gut,

the steering wheel fought back,

almost ripped from my grasp.

Coffee sloshed out the cup,

a brown wave cresting

over the plastic console,

dripping down beside the seat-belt buckle.

It looked like old blood.

That dark, ragged rim, it just sat there,

a crater smiling up at the sky,

and I swear the tire gave a sigh

before it buckled in,

leaving its ghost in the stain.