singled out

He was driving on the highway,

A murder of crows in the rear view;

Passing turnip trucks, music turned up,

On icy sheets of glass.

In his Chevy, wondering what’s next –

Turned off along route three-five-six,

Near the junction, a lone tree burning.

Oh the ire, growing fire,

Lead foot on the gas

Clicking heels and spinning wheels;

Staying home tonight.

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