Big Game On The Streets

he laughs as he
stumbles to the door
the cold air rushing in
but he doesn't feel a thing
he is warm and invincible
in his microscopic hell
his brain shrivelled, pickled
useless now
his head hard
ready to cruise the streets
four wheels and a bottle
of scotch
at his command
the engine roars to life
eager for adventure
the thrill of the hunt
street lamps blur the way
and the music just isn't loud enough
Mario Andretti
would sure be proud
of the way he handles his machine
like a pro as he rounds the corner
shooting through the intersection
the red lights blinking
but he soon grows weary of the road
the radio makes his head throb
and he switches it off
he goes to autopilot
is lulled to sleep by the
purr of rubber on pavement
dashed lines burnt over and over
on the backs of his eyelids
he wishes he was home in bed
but he will rest soon enough
now, free from manipulation
his car continues onward
seeking out its victim
over the median and across traffic
it swoops in for the kill

Success!
a family of five
to mount over the fireplace

- Stephen Brodie