Maybe you’re like me, driving
with nowhere particular in mind
when you pass a hitchhiker
who resembles you to the freckle.

Startled, you fishtail around a curve.
To one side’s the stone face
of the hill that the road’s cut from,
& to the other, down the steep

slope, mostly pine & fallen rock.
You pump your brakes hard
& turn opposite the skid,
only now, doing a donut,

you’re heading straight
for your double. Remarkably,
there’s just a soft thump upon impact.
You know you ought to stop,

but nobody’s within miles,
so you keep going, still thinking about it,
asking yourself, like me,
what you’re doing with your life.

This piece first appeared in Nearing Nacoma

Matt Morris has appeared in various magazines and anthologies. He’s received multiple nominations for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. His first book, Nearing Narcoma, won the Main Street Rag Poetry Book Award. Knut House Press published his latest collection, Walking in Chicago with a Suitcase in My Hand.