They’re killing our children
on bicycles, the tart-mouthed
teamsters trawling tanks too tightly
between warehouse and brick walls.
Roads travelled too fast for trouble
to take a holiday, while screeching
parents spent their trust on silence
until news packaged and delivered
braked at their doorstep, hacking
hedges that kept the street at bay.
There’s always a driver tapping
on the wheel to get it all done
whose now wrenching his heart
for a momentary lapse in time.