it happened on Cape Cod back when Route 6
past Orleans was a long straight empty road
it was a hot day, end-of-season yellowed grass
stretching away in all directions, the blacktop
sticky where we stopped on the shoulder
spooked, we walked toward the young woman
standing in the road beside the truck, another car’s
nose buried in the nose of the truck, someone
in the car’s driver seat not moving, two children
still sitting on the truck’s front seat, screaming
we lifted the children out, sat them on our laps
broken glass pimpling their faces, the blood
tiny spots beginning to slide, we told them
they must sit still, not move, we began singing
about the farmer, the wife child nurse cow
we picked glass one splinter after another
their mother standing alone in the road
wringing her hands, no one spoke, we sang
ever so many songs — yankee doodle, row
your boat — from time to time the children smiled
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