Monday, February 2, 2015


Beaten to submission
The tires slip and in the second control is found and lost
Slammed against the barricade
A moment of silence before the crunch, crush
That floating slowly sideways
Inevitable eventuality,
Brutally pressing into the barricade
Bent, broken and saved.

Hobble away
To a safer place.

Walk around
The damages superficial
Bend down
The cold ground
For signs of leaks
Shine a light on
Looking for anything
Out of place.

Listening in the desolation 
For sounds of distress
Trying to differentiate
The same old growl from
The chance of something new.

Then it comes down to feeling,
And the gut drops
The shuddering that lets you know,
You can't go on.
Not safely.

Carbulance called.

Waiting patient as the snow builds, the defrost roars
The glow of the radio,
The wind howls without
The mind howls within
Is sedated on the chew toy 
Of modern technology
Never alone with a phone
Never far from home.
Never bored, that is the 
Worst thing we could be,
Pocketing a myriad of devices in one handheld vice.
Squeezing the lithium down the veins, through the heart, mind, cleansed again and in need of a recharge.

Carbulance arrives

Traveling saints with braided metal yarns,
Driving where driven to,
Dealing with every variation
Of human condition,
From the buxom young woman
To the demented old man. 
Answering the call of the unfortunate traveller,
On a morning when they can barely keep traction.
The lines in the road are concealed, everyone driving on instinct and feeling, some failing and I cannot judge,
As I watch the beast
Stare greedily at me through the rear window.

We're it a horse
A bullet for its lunch.

Back at the veterinarian 
The doctor looks over my poor pony bucket,
A broken leg twisted metal
Bones aren't cheap
And labor ain't free
But I'll bandaid her
For lack of options
And spend the week
Working to pay off the mistake
Of waking up early
On a Monday morning,
When I should have crawled back in bed for six more weeks.

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