The engine's loud -- perhaps that's why the large
Matrona moved her child from curbside to
The fence-side, lifting up her school-zone charge
While fight-or-flighting me. Yeah, I ripped through
The slow-kids zone at ten above, and no,
The stop-sign people weren't around to pant
-omime like seizing pianists --slow, go slow! --
Just him and her and me along a scant,
Abandoned social contract. I drove down
The middle of the road, sans child, sans fat,
Sans crosswalk duties here in Anytown,
America, my solo tour past flat
-lined bourgeois cliques all disembarking kids
And sweet thirteens in ports along the skids.
2 comments:
Dunno what you did right with this one but it was too easy to fall in love with. Maybe it adroitly addressed the usual philosophic rant against the machine mindset overrunning civilization, squeezing out the human more subtly, or else snatched on a new, though related topic? Either way, I quite enjoyed it. Mayhap it was the first person viewpoint?
My but the speaker here sounds like one of those slick blondes tooling rather recklessly down the street, king of the highway in his muscle car, devil be damned.
Beautiful, spiced with a touch of humor, or perhaps scorn seemed acceptable? Of course excellent imagery. Thought-provoking.
I enjoyed it. (Hope that wasn't naughty in the final count.)
Thanks, Jenny. This was one of those "actually happened" scenarios. The scene stuck with me enough (as the driver) that I smartphoned a few quick comments onto blogger and then turned them into a sonnet when I got to a computer. Not sure what it means, and I am increasingly unsure with descriptive sonnets. My goal is to try to reach for some extra level of purpose beyond mere depiction, but we'll see where that goes. Thanks for reading.
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