written on the school bus, on the way home from... school
The growling Beast
threatens to combust.
We could all be DOA,
victims of a yellow death;
mixed expressions of unsuspecting children.
I guess you could call it
a near-death experience.
The Beast comes to a halt,
its padded feet screeching
on the pavement of
a monstrous buffet.
The fumes might be getting to me,
but isn't that a hole in the sky?
Forget the picture-perfect dreams
the future used to hold--
our shiny metal beasts
will make sure
that the hopes and dreams of yesterday
will be gone by tomorrow.
