By Karl Koweski
since Brian’s life ended
beneath the steel wheels
of a diesel truck
on route sixty seven
two miles outside town,
I’ve heard this bullshit platitude
a hundred times
from a hundred people
who needed to believe it
more than I
needed to hear it
when it’s your time to go,
it’s your time to go
brilliant…
who can argue with that logic?
these empty words
must offer some sort of comfort
to those who don’t wish
to consider the infinite
choices and coincidences
which led Brian to be
on that stretch of road
at that exact moment
in the path of a truck
with a blown tire
when it’s your time to go,
it’s your time to go
this sentiment offered no solace
to the man mashed
into the Honda’s upholstery,
left leg torn off at the hip,
chest crushed, lungs perforated,
left eyeball dislodged
with the force of the impact
and still enough life left
to hear the encouraging words
from the first responder
if he had washed dishes
before he left the house
his vision wouldn’t be
fading out to the sight
of pebbled glass strewn
across the floorboards
like blood diamonds
as he struggled for air
his broken body no longer
held a place for
he could have turned
down any street
he could have driven through
the last yellow light
except
it was his time to go
according to the people
who haven’t went yet
Clutching at Straws 
I think we need an “I hear ya,” box because I don’t “like” what happened to the person who was killed. People say things because it’s the only way they can deal with the insanity and senselessness of what happens in life and because they’re afraid. I’m very sorry for Brian. There are no right words. I’m sorry for you too, because he’s gone from your life and you miss him so much. All words are empty, no matter how well meant, when you are going through something like this. I’m sorry is all I have to give.