Bumper to Bumper


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.


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 )

Twitter picture

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

Facebook photo

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

Google+ photo

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

Connecting to %s