MADD (so SADD)

Written by: Andrew Gallagher

Grasp for the clutch, 
(clutching on automatic
chances)
clench my jaw –
am I clutch? 
no luck.

I gasp! (gassed) 
the gas-tank tanked.
Tired I try,
but floppy tires
blunder
like a drove
of drunken thunderbirds.

“Gear up guy! Get some get-go!”
I exhaust, idle 
and stammer,
grass spattered,
paint chips scattered,
brakes broke
and steering hammered -

destination
is going,
rear-view gone.

Turn my wheels (or my keys, at least).
Just don’t give me a brake.