10 MPH

dog-pawed fog an apparatus for extinguishing point ‘b’,
much like an asphalt highway apparatus
extinguishing a tire skid mark;
wind and sea stomping on a cold shore,
distant town for a visit an eternity away,
10 MPH;
dented pots on old kitchen tables catching black 
drizzle, flakes from roofing drift
down, losing their grip on a slick, wet surface,
like the inebriated in a dirty city;
pedestrian feet splashing puddles on turn signal
blinkers, now phantom lights
mud sliding down a hill, jaywalks across the 
mud spreads like a flat cake in an unheated oven,
road emergency man shaving with a cordless
razor while wipers run out of breath;
town streets now as if tidal waters, 
umbrellas with broken spokes,
mood, dampened and ill tempered;
fog drooping off of street lights,
fields like sponges, no need
for the ploughboy;
rescue workers much like apprentices,
learning their way as they go
thresholds become piers,
amphibious vehicles like
passing ships
looking for survivors, fog in their
eyes and throat,
choking, blinding;
then suddenly, light and clearing,
drowns the fog and rain,
a new bright day, but took 10 MPH
to get here.
Copyright © 04/24/2013 Ðark Ṝoasted Ƣoetry®

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