My father
sends me
lucky bastard
videos:

the pedestrian
that leaps clear
as a bus
sweeps a car
through
the crosswalk,

a pickup wiping                   
the backside
of a highway
patrolman,

the bicyclist
weaving
between
a three-vehicle
collision

the raising
of a sixteen
wheeler
from a crushed
can of a car,
its driver
unfolding and
walking away.

I watch them
before sleep;
the leaps and twirls
of destiny’s
escapees.
Massage
my stumps.

Titanium sisters
propped
by my bed,
roar of a semi
tearing through
my head.