I Wasn't Paying Attention

I was running through the conversation—

the one in my head, the replay,

what I should have said, the calculation

of how different the whole day

would have been—when the speed bump hit.

The car lurched. Something loose

in the back seat slid and bit

the door. I checked. No use—

just a water bottle. Yellow paint

in the rearview, low on the concrete.

I knew what it was. The faint

second before knowing, the beat

of the jolt knocking me back

into the seat, the windshield, the lot

outside, the engine. The track

of the conversation, the thought

still going somewhere above the wheel.

I sat there for a minute.

The bottle settled against the door.

I went inside.