The fast lane
I read his epitaph today
and I shook my head,
A picture of a motorbike
etched into the marble
with a portrait of a young man…
far too young to be dead.
I shook my head.
The watery winter sun
ineffectual against the chill wind
blowing down the back of my neck
and throwing the last of the winter leaves
into the flowerbed,
accentuating the desolation to be found
amid so many headstones and crosses
in this hallowed ground.
I thought ‘what a waste’.
Aloud, I asked “why”?
The wind snatched my question away -
and no one there to answer it, anyway.
He was a young man,
hardly out of his teens,
no road sense –
all leather jacket and jeans
who had been nowhere and,
surely in his short life,
had achieved little of consequence
and had sped to his death
in such guileless haste
and, monotonous as the train of thought was,
I kept returning to the subject of waste…
He could not bear to wait…
He would sooner be early than late…
why wait ten minutes
when he could be there in five?
because if he had taken the ten minutes,
he may still have been alive..
it really is that simple!
is the reason for
Most of us share that failure with him
but at least find ourselves
with more time in which to fail.
The young think
that they are indestructible
and they believe they need no warning,
they care nothing for rising sea levels
and global warming,
it’s live now, pay later
is sometimes sooner
than they think,
when they insist on
dying in the fast lane
and living on the brink