Pavement slick with downpour
Glares hot with reflection:
Doubled headlights, white will o' the wisps,
The wash of red tailights screaming "Jesus! STOP!"
The broken center-lines buried under the deluge,
And I'm wondering,
How the hell does anyone else know where they're going
When the light is shining in their eyes?
How many wrecks are piled up along the 5 tonight?
After the rain stops,
Will I see once again the accusing stop-lights
Transmute the standing puddles into pools of blood?
George Chadderdon © 1996