Another Epoch We Reached

The car bucked once
Over a railroad track where
The road was not:
An accident caused by our drunk.
And I, in a heroic way,
Came to in the passenger seat;
Felt that we were
In the cradle of a ditch.

My arm, not broken, opened the door.
My foot, not broken, dropped a splash
In two feet of water.
And briefly,
As I circled the heap,
Thought I would push it free,
Until the twelve feet down we were
Counted themselves out in threes.
I sat back down across from her
In the bucket seat.

We looked with slow eyes at each other,
And hid laughing for a second.
Some time later, our throats cleared.

She, in her car
At the bottom of a ditch
Thirty feet from the viaduct we missed
Feeling the heat
Of still being alive,
Cried.

I reached for my rum,
And returned to my ways.

Then those days later,
When we were still alive,
Spoke of the thing
As a thing of not to speak.

It was just another zenith
(pronounced with a soft 'e')
Of summer.

I imagine cool moonlight
On a yellow car
As it crests the zenith
(pronounced with a soft 'e')
Of railroad,
And sinks into the shallow.
Then I step out,
Not a hero.