Everything Turns Surreal
A sassy moon hangs in the sky
the bar's full and you're feeling spry.
And amidst the laugher and jeers
the waiter shouts“last call for beers.”
This tavern is the best, bar none
you’d love to stay but got to run.
And begin to head for your car
parked in the back it's not too far.
You're driving home whistling a tune
flooring the gas to get there soon.
And the car screams at your touch
grinding gears as you smoke the clutch.
Death reaches in and grabs the wheel
then everything turns surreal.
For with the sound of breaking glass
you're thrown free landing on the grass.
Yet an infant’s killed in the crash
her small skull crushed upon the dash.
And your heart bursts in anguished cry
this can't be so, God let me die!
You're taken away in handcuffs
to a jail full of cops and toughs.
And you think on what you've done
all for a drunken night of fun.
Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2017