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End of the
Road
Some splutter in,
their death rattle loud as road drills.
Others are dragged,
their engines jammed.
Owners accept small money,
and leave – a tear in their eye.
Men like vultures scavenge and tear,
leaving wounds that won’t heal.
Their offspring sit
like tomorrows racing drivers
behind the wheels of yesterday’s
super cars.
The bellowing mushroom cloud
of burning tyres, reminds old men of wars,
and young children
of early evening news.
A Zodiac, grown over with
white butterbur,
golden saxifrage
and dog-mercury,
windows smashed.
Yet even here in this waste land
of rusting bones, life begins.
The whimper of blind pups under a crumbling wing.
Not
All Monsters Have Big Teeth
Mummy
told me there were no monsters.
But there are.
And not all of them roam free and unchecked in my nightmares.
Not all monsters dribble acid and have teeth sharp enough to rip my heart out.
If only they were, things would be so simple for those
monsters will bleed.
And if they bleed they can be killed.
Real monsters have hearts of steel with sixteen valves that
suck in man’s life force.
And belch out a concoction of poisonous gases that choke me.
Really big steel monsters impress silly young girls.
A real monster killed my Mummy.
Suicide
Driving through time,
In a super-charged monster,
Throttle jammed open,
Wide as the world.
Engine screaming at the devil,
Burning through the darkness
Towards a terrifying destiny.
I look in my rear view mirror
And all I see are tyre tracks.
And destroyed dreams.
And when the Russian wind blows,
Or the Arctic snow falls,
Even these are obliterated.
So what’s the point?
May as well put a bullet in the chamber,
Slip back the hammer,
Put muzzle to head
And let the hammer fall.
My
Car
I turn your key,
And you become life,
As your blood, of liquid gold, flows through your veins
And your injected heart throbs with mine.
Down at the restaurant it’s only the best for you,
The finest unleaded,
Nothing else will do.
Twelve cylinders,
Twenty-four valves,
And a turbo too.
Makes you a dream come true.
Others are high on ‘H’ or ‘E’s,
But I’ve no time for them,
I’m high on speed
And you are my rush.
Smoking wheels on blood stained highway
Keeps me burning on my course,
Round choking juggernauts that clutter my way,
Their bodies so huge,
Their drivers so small.
I have no stereo, going thud thud thud.
Squealing tyres on tight bends
Is all the music I need.
Hot hatch comes into view,
Illuminated by the golden streetlights.
Accelerator goes down,
Turbo kicks in,
Wheels spin.
And he’s just a fading image in my rear view mirror,
All he can see are my six tail lights,
As the fumes pouring off my burning wheels consumes him.
Blue light flashing,
Siren wailing,
They’re after me.
He’s got ‘Blue Light’ fever
And is determined to destroy me.
To him, I’m a red rag
And he a bull.
To me, he’s a plaything.
I tease him and let him come close,
Then tap the go pedal,
Leaving him wishing, on his whistle, for a car with power to match mine.
He knows he can’t win,
He’s tried before.
But still he comes for more.
When he’s raging like a demented demon from the devil’s grave,
I open your throttle,
And we melt into the darkness.
And beyond.
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