Wednesday, October 5, 2011

Feckless

Feckless

It’s the cars I tell you
he rants driving down the freeway

Twenty miles from the gas station to the rear
Fifteen to the town ahead and

The sun, the sun blares like a klaxon


And the cars carry the ills of the world
he screams slamming the wheel against the heel

Of his palm, oh yes the cars—curse them all—

Have brought us suffering and all evil

They carry to our doors


Every hate of man (oh the death and suffering)
trains planes pay no mind

It’s the automobile that has ruined the world

He rages in the passing lane foam flecked lips

Ten over till finally


In his fury he stops and slams the door

Grabs the shotgun from the back

And with a bestial roar he dispatches the tires

And the rest go into the motor

Until his murder spent


He begins the long walk into town alone
his self-righteousness intact

In tow behind him