Car Wreck

She sits across from the doctor's desk

and she is pale

and nearly covered with swirling tattoos.


Her hair, like her skin, is multihued

and  it is shaved

in one large patch over her left ear.


The doctor feigns disregard

for her appearance

and so instantly she knows he lies.


She ignores his false greeting and

stares and waits

until he looks at the paper and speaks her name.


“You can call me what you want,”

she says slowly,

“but my true name is Car Wreck.”


“Oh, Car Wreck,” he answers,

smug and humoring.

“Why would you call yourself Car Wreck?”


“Because I'm dying in one,”

she answers flatly

“except instead of suddenly, I'm dying slowly.”

Dale Wisely

This poem originally appeared
in the online journal