What it is

June 2010: In a desperate attempt to stave off senility, the monkey began writing a poem a day. By summer's end he'd begun to run out of versified political rants and philosophical bloviations. Then he hit on the improbable idea of writing micro fiction in the form of Elizabethan sonnets. Eureka. The birth of the "Sonnets From Other Lives" series. Two hundred plus lives later, he's still at it.

Friday, January 14, 2011

Sonnets From Other Lives: Michelle

She never knew what hit her. She was dead
before the car careened off of the bridge.
The rifle bullet took most of her head—
the car crash just confused things--for it hid
for some time the sleight of hand of fate—
the intersecting lines of happenstance—
an open car window--a sunny day--
a kid out in a boat who just by chance
fired a rifle—just screwing around—
a half a mile out—shooting bottles—
never knew the ricocheting bullet found
her driving eastbound—foot down on the throttle—
singing with the radio with no
notion where the next second would go.
Posted by at

1 comment:

  1. P. A .HofmannJanuary 15, 2011 at 10:55 AM

    I read this story many years ago in an old Reader's Digest--a young girl driving over a bridge in New York(?) hit in the head by a rifle bullet. Months later the shooter is found--a young guy in a boat a mile offshore fooling around with a rifle. If she had had her window rolled up the bullet would have just bounced off. The story stuck with me--the icy hand of fate's creepy ability to come up with a surprise now & then.

    ReplyDelete

Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)