nervous wreck

he's there soon after the crash and i'm

sitting on the side of the road

bystander by nature, shifting my feet

the way i always do when i'm nervous.

i wipe my nose and he notices me

sniffing; he asks "little miss,

have you been doing things you 

regret?"
 

"just living, if that counts, sir" i reply, my

tongue as dry as my eyes,

i want to go home and

hold my love,

let her coffee-seashore

scent fill my lungs until

i can breathe normally again.

and even though logically, i was 

standing by and couldn't have,

even if i tried, saved the girls in the car,

i feel like i have failed and

when i go home i lock her out of bed.

she sits by the door with the dog and listens to me cry

passing notes through the crack in the frame.

i will love my coffee girl,

the way she loves her nervous wreck.