Bumper to Bumper

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What frightens you, Norma?

What high holy terror

Can drop like a veil

And curl your toes?

 

Is it Love?

Is it the sunburned grandchildren

Of your sunburned grandchildren

Roasting along the equator

 

Where we’ll all move

To peek across the belt

Holding the world’s guts in

To see how the other half lives?

 

Norma, I am troubled.

I want to mock and deride you

But know it isn’t right.

That’s between you and your god.

 

Who called by the way

To say he’s stuck in traffic.

Seems Apollo’s chariot got a flat.

This high noon may last awhile.

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