Hands wrapped in black leather warmth-dots of white specs fly at transparent glass fixed before his eyes. Plastic heat-vents blow tepid air throughout the cockpit, still freezing. Strapped in by polyester belts and a silver colored buck of steel. Thumb, connected, at once is, at the instant of a second kicked to the door panel; sharp pain tells it is most likely broken. The steering wheel casing becomes a pea-pod exploding to pieces. Safety devices turn to shrapnel, which blows into the pilot’s face. Tires leave the surface, as a kaleidoscope of road, cars, trucks, tires, and snow appears for the occupant. Eyes closed from a collision of cloth and chemical combustion created by an air bag, created by a scientist, created in a laboratory, provided by a company. He bought it. The benefits far outweigh cons. Pop. A tire blows and then, in a surreal unison of metal, climate, and human being, as the band chimes in, the mixture of automobile and ice cover asphalt.
The pilot thinks as he looks up-I could have died.
He contemplates as he is broadsided by and 18-wheeler, out of control, weighed to capacity, hot from copious hours of work already logged. He gets no overtime pay.
There is no funeral…