How many is too many?

A prolonged screech of tyres.
An explosion, a bone-wrenching crunch
Of metal on metal.
It echoes crunches from last week,
from last month or year.
Panic. Screams.
High-pitched.
Wailing, a woman.
A mother, a daughter.
Rush to the window.
Another accident; same corner.
A kombi this time.
This time these people.
The back taken out, smashed beyond recognition.
Bodies, broken and misshapen
Scattered amongst the wails.
Bananas, bunches fallen and squashed.
Flashes of iphones.
Chatter I can't understand.
The wails I understand.
The scene I recognize, I remember.
A crowd gathers too quickly.
"Is someone dead" a sekuru asks me.
"I don't think so."
Someone is urging another's arm
back into its socket.
The wails continue. Mournful.
Sirens arrive. Not enough.
The crowd stays, grows.
The chatter, the chatter, the chatter.

These windows of 274 have seen too many accidents,
Heard too many crunches,
Too many screams.
How many is too many?
When will enough be enough?