"Charlie, your father would
like to speak to you."

Her voice was dull-like the
Gray matter buzzing through
Our minds, falling in between
The black and white, the right
Or wrong - as she
Lowered the car's window,
And shot a glance at me.

"Do you want to talk to him?"

No, I don't wish to
talk to a deadbeat man
But it was too late since
Her hand had gripped mine
And just a few seconds
Later, we were Eye to eye

"Charlie?"

His voice was bitter, like
A breeze, a slap of the wind on
Your face, the clawing of the
Chalkboard, the screaming
Following the crash of
Two cars; it only strung for
A little while before there
Was a jolt of pain that rattled
Every inch of my skin.

© Willows