A Shrill in the Car

A gamut of green, blue and red,
It was in the insignia of the car's windshield,
And sped.
She stopped,
Her blind son's eyes bled,
Her car turned,
Then she read.
Her crunching mouth was fed,
She couldn't hear a slither,
As her snack wrapper and music was spread.
"Hail Mary," she said,
Then began the next line to song:
"A serpent, stake, nor foul spell, not fate. She comes with love and duties to state..."
She sung as the gas station was near,
And fed.
She looked and saw the young one ahead,
No child's seat,
But it was green and the blanket blue.
He wasn't weak as a sheep,
But a shepherd she knew.
Her snack now done,
She grabbed another one.
Child's laughter driven beside her car was there too,
Something fun,
Even how she sang...
A hiss from her hair or air,
It wasn't her song or son,
But it groped tightly until she couldn't feel her tongue. It was all grace,
Until this moment
Where she saw the enemy's face
Black with red lights blinking.
She could only be slow to thinking,
And not free to fate.
She couldn't swerve,
It was to late,
Nor brake.
But strangely enough
Before it was to late
She heard a yell from Hell
And a laughter from her son waving to the child ahead,
She held on.
She felt as if a snake were all around her,
Even she pulled her own hair.
It wasn't real.
Her son took the wheel,
It was the first time he could steer.
His mother was choking
And her son pulled off aside the road
With no fear.
His eyes were open,
But still unspoken.
He grabbed a knife and pen to open her windpipe
And saved her life,
Seeing blood drip from his eyes and a single tear. "That's it!" she gasped for air,
The food now in her hair.
"But son!" she said, "how is it you see, steer, even with no fear?"
"It was her!" he said, "Mary with young Jesus, then sped."
She looked at him as if she were from the dead.