Dog In A Truck
The black pickup truck appeared
unexpectedly in the rearview mirror
a chrome bumper pressed
near the back of my head
The driver’s face was pumpkin sized
swollen round unshaven cheeks squeezed his eyes
into slants as a neon orange cap with oak leaf patterns
left only his brow exposed
Tires squealed as the truck
careened pulling parallel to my family man van
the orange face was barking at me
even before his window opened
His shook his fist with rage
alerting me of my low intelligence
he suggested I breed with my mother
and raced ahead to swerve in front
He slammed his breaks, just to show me
I cautiously touched on mine
we proceeded down the road
as did his mad dog temper
He slammed his breaks again, just to slow me
I touched on mine realizing, he is touched.
That pumpkin headed driver is no doubt
the rabid offspring of a mother dog.
Gregory Zeorlin 11/19/2009 7:45am
(Poem inspired by driving incident that occurred 11/18/2009)
