Slow Motion Fastball

                    for Judy Downer

 

Some deaths are sudden; others come at you

   Like a slow-motion fastball—where you see

It barely moving, like a snail through glue,

   And every stitch has perfect clarity.

And as that ball gets closer, bit by bit,

   You steel your nerves and feel your muscles numbing,

And gamely brace yourself against the hit,

   And think: “I’ve got this!” ‘cause you see it coming.

Then it arrives and BAM!  You’re on your ass

   And pain—pain everywhere—is all you know

Because the impact shatters you like glass.

   No matter if it’s sudden or it’s slow,

      It drops you like a bullet from a gun:

      It’s still a fastball, and it hits like one. 

 

Copyright 2015 Matthew J Wells