Dirty Windshield

Tanvir Naomi Bush Disability, Poetry, Visual Impairment 1 Comment

Dirty Windshield (In Space No One Can Hear You Scream.)

The screen is cracked,
Two bullet holes and
The blackened spidery cracks
Like septicaemia
Creep
Towards the veins and brain

The shield is almost down, captains.
Nothing can stop the
Eleven Million Mile High walls of night
Rushing at twice the speed of any light.
We are the fragile gnat

And just breath could now knock through
And rage bore wider holes
And the whisper of air
As you rush pass oblivious
Can knock us
Out of orbit.

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