Spin-Out

Unprovoked, you slide - slick,
like a wet road at midnight. You slip away
into your distance, oblivious
to the spectators lining the shoulder.

Exhaust, perhaps a final breath, lingers
in the inky absence, and the
chemical smell of your departure is choking.

But the gravel will resettle in your wake,
the fumes of your passing will clear
and the pavement has already forgotten
your name.