Everything seemed too slow-
the semi chugging round curves
blocking views, delaying traffic.
Pass the truck, he kept saying
fearless of mountain cliffs,
yet dreading the loss of time.
Bracing the wheel,
I stepped on the gas,
and crossed the double yellow lines.
Then we saw the sheriff spin onto the gravel,
turn his car around and pass that same truck,
chasing us down the narrow highway.
You almost killed me, the sheriff screamed,
and something about that truth,
his anger, his sunglasses struck us as funny.
Hysterical laughter filled the truck while
the sheriff circled every possible fine,
keeping his free hand on the gun, just incase.
Broke every law but the ones
involving headlights. We drove on
laughing, looking over the cliff.
Then we were quiet. Nothing
but music blasting from stereo
knowing David wouldn't live through summer.
Tumors defining speed limits, humor, finality
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