Plot Device
Turning into an alley behind a church
I get smacked by a van flying past
in the parking lane and spin to a stop
at the curb and before I can undo my seatbelt
the crazed driver is calling on God and neighbors
(neither respond), threatening to beat my ass
and also trying to wheedle cash from me
which makes him seem familiar and harmless,
a guy who’s a pain at work if you’re stuck
near enough to hear his ranting radio.
No one was hurt. Everyone lost money.
But the crunch and twirl and time yawning open
reminded me of what Shakespeare’s troupe
never forgot. The shipwreck seems a mere
device, but it's real. Likewise, the storm
holds us, has held us, will hold us in its thrall.
If you’re housed dry and safe tonight, light
a candle and enjoy the hour. Everything starts
with the cliche of falling on ice, falling
from a ladder, falling in love. And ends.
Accident and more accident and, accidentally, I speak,
snatching swaths of costume and scenery along the way.
At least we ended together, say musicians
pressed into service at a friend’s memorial.
Michael Lauchlan
Michael Lauchlan has contributed to many publications, including New England Review, Virginia Quarterly Review, The North American Review, Louisville Review, and Poet Lore. His most recent collection is Trumbull Ave., from WSU Press. Running Lights is forthcoming in 2026 from Cornerstone Press.