I remember a story
That I heard 14 years ago
About a man who dropped a brick
Off a highway overpass
It hit a driver in the head
She didn’t die
It was worse than that
Her brain scrambled up
The soft flesh no match
For silica and clay
The gray and white matter
Battered, bruised, and thrashed
Until she couldn’t speak
And couldn’t think
Now, on every approach
I look up at the bridge
To see if he’s there, but–
He never is
But you can’t be too careful
So I check my mirrors
As the bridge shrinks behind me
To see that… yes
There’s no man on either side
Unless he ran across
Or crouched out of sight
“A vampire, perhaps,” I mumble
Spectral as a worry
A substance with no reflection
I think about turning around
And climbing the abutment
To look for signs of life
Perhaps to save another driver
Or to calm my worry
But the moment is gone
I sigh, wishing that just once
I could keep my eyes
From scanning the line
Between the concrete and sky
I hate driving at night
The bridges are dark
And I’m always nervous
As I pass under
Because I remember a story
I heard 14 years ago