Sort of a revelation,
That I should have died
When I got hit by the motorcycle
That would have been just right, and on schedule
But I was theoretically saved.
An ant moves a single grain of sand
Statistically insignificant by any calculation
Yet useful and directed, like its million clones
I was non-functional from almost the start
Blown off the conveyor belt by a puff of air
Staying by the hole in the ice while insouciant skaters smiled, gleeful,
Unaware of the dim red light in black water
I clung on for decades, every day a potential erased
Black crumbs brushed off the page with a rapid motion.
The case broke open; several wet gears fell out into the street
The motorcycle skidded a hundred yards on the concrete
And caught fire, ending its life gracefully
But I had no fuel to ignite,
No fuel to run the engine,
To accelerate down the blank road.