Wizz Wizz the cars speed by, one step from life or death, only God will know
road rage clones all with a hatred of the old
on the old A 1 they once had picnics in the central reservation
now the machinery of, “Getting there”, wherever “There” maybe,
echo’s damnations advance into the bowels of hell
Bowels that explode into already aching ears
I hear the screech of brakes and a deep thud acrid smoke coming down the road
A police road block infuriating boy races ….. three hours of hell awaiting ……………
