Sleepy to the bone,
Wakes to the buzzing of the phone
"Is this Mr. Wellington?"
The police, "there's an accident scene."
Scattering a file of clothes,
He stops and covers his mouth and nose.
Could she be the one?
She ought to be at the John's:
Her habitual fortress
When home is in distress.
Grabs the keys on the table,
Fingers shiver, they are unstable.
He has been calling her now,
Only reply is her voicemail sound.
"Beatrice please pick up!"
Speed of the car is at the top.
Alex is the reason for all this;
No, the fault is all his;
He should have believed her.
How? She prefers Alex's sweater.
She isn't over her famous lover;
Prefers to wear the sweater he gave her,
Just when he's back in town.
The thought makes him frown.
He swerves the car left,
Recalls her words as she left:
"Peter, you're too insecure.
I love you for sure,
But everything isn't about proving it."
It's hard for him to breathe.
He misses the red traffic light,
Jammed by a truck, the car takes flight
And summersaults thrice.
The name in his mind is Beatrice...
She smiles as he looks at her .
He's finally awake after an hour,
Or that's how long she has waited.
"This is all complicated."
He says, "I got a call tha..."
She interrupts, "Some lady stole my car."
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