Black Spot

Rocks fling from the asphalt, loose pennies cast at my upturned bowler-hat bubble car, asteroids challenging my ozone windshield;
I’d forgotten how these roads feel.

Scattered with obituaries to long-dead high-school hopefuls. Laminated photographs,
cryogenic colleagues forever youthful; trunks smiling with plastic flowers, music blared: my Piccadilly daydream-

Each sliced bud grows in me, burgeoning, brimming with belated dreams: lifelong passions… complex machinery evolving day in, day out, all erased by a flick of the wrist.

The power of gods in these hands. Who let us behind the wheel?

It feels heavy in my hands like stainless steel.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: