The Noisy Water Review

The Devil Does 90

Barthalamew Arnold

It’s bizarre how events unfold

one minute I was sipping a cool beer

the next I was careening down

Pittman Road in a midnight black Cadillac

with a donut tire and a deadbeat driver

the veins of his hands bulging as he

gripped the wheel, incapable of caring less

about the neon numbers of the speedometer

the needle pointed ominously toward

ninety miles per hour, and gaining

a lead weight kept me

from hurling my words

at that man, whose name

I never learned

I could see his shadow torn face

under a cult-like black hood. I recall

the smell, the music, the rush of adrenaline

as I tried not to think

of the oncoming notorious ninety degree turn

it really is bizarre how things happen

one second I was in the back seat

and the next I was picking myself up

from the ground, barely scratched

Kyle, hunched over in the front seat

and the driver, twenty feet from the car

mouth wet with red, and his body

contorted in that impossible way

the others rushed to his aid. and I

watched as the sirens lit

the woods

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