I wonder looking out the window how
it came to pass the car ran up a tree.
Let Mario Andretti take a bow;
its headlights glare and stare right back at me.
It seems that Granny shifted in reverse,
then swerved to miss the bike there in the yard.
Might be we need a wrecker or a hearse;
the Whomping Willow came down rather hard.
The bike, though surely frightened, is unscathed.
Though down a life, will soon take flight again.
And as for Granny, she is freshly bathed,
consoles herself with yet another gin.
We need to have that conversation soon;
for heaven’s sake, it’s not quite half past noon.
Categories:
andretti, age, grandmother,
Form: Sonnet