Fetch My Skimmer
Slugs and snails line the highway,
Munching, crunching, drinking fumes;
Early in the morning, late at day.
A tunnel of black ahead looms,
Feasting on diesel, ready to growl;
Into the maw a lucky one zooms.
Compacted inside the giant jowl,
Hooter poised, horsepower stalls;
Bodies meet with metallic howl.
“Fetch my skimmer, freedom calls,
Flying, leaping o’er all that appalls.”
Copyright © Cecelia Hopkins-Drewer | Year Posted 2019
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