The blame

When you heard the screech on the asphalt

and realised your brakes didn't respond

you knew collision was bound to happen

perhaps you thought it wasn't your fault.

Perhaps, perhaps you saw my son

on the other side of your windscreen,

with his bright blue eyes wide open.

Perhaps, perhaps he froze on the spot

like the rabbit your bumper caught

last week – but that wasn't your fault.

It all happened in a flash, blinded

by the rising sun – maybe blunted

too, drowsy still in a sleepy slump.

When you heard the deafening thump

you knew one life had come to an end –

and again thought it couldn't be your fault –

perhaps then your heartbeats came to a halt.

You never know what's in the store of Fate,

but I knew, as all moms do, that something was off.

I had badgered my son not too be late

and in doing so I was behind time myself.

You see, my son that day was turning twelve,

and I wanted to organise a surprise dinner

but I had lots to do before the night's glitter.

So I dropped him near the roundabout –

the one which has become dangerous

for they have removed the hard shoulders –

that's why folk now take another route.

So when my son tried in a hurry to cross the road

he crossed yours and though you stomped

the brakes broke and your car flew

like a cannonball on morning dew.

When I got the call and reached the hospital

I mulled “how am I going to tell my husband

what has happened to our only child?”

I was directed by nurses with bowed heads

into a cold white room buzzing with sounds.

White blouses blinding in the blaring sun.

I still couldn't believe what you had done.

I heard my son's voice calling me as in a haze

though I couldn't see him through the wall of tears

only then did I start pondering whose fault it was.

Then I couldn't feel anything but pain –

losing a son isn't like losing a pen –

we can't rewrite any part of that tale,

not even a different, happier version.

This is why, Sir, I'm begging for your pardon

because had your son not swerved his car

and hit a wall to avoid my child

he would have had a blame to bear

with which he would never have reconciled.

Life will never be the same again

for you, for me, and for my son,

because yours gave his so ours could go on.

I will never forgive what he gave,

never forgive you said that he was brave

never forgive that you said at his funeral

that it wasn't anybody's fault.

That no one but ill-luck was to blame.

I wish – oh I wish I could say the same.