Hell on Wheels

After lacing my running shoes,
I strode down the sidewalk
like a ship plowing through the sea.
Five miles, I thought, do or die.

In the distance, I heard the car
a mile away tearing through streets.

He was a nuisance.
He drove a 1970 Chevrolet Chevelle SS 454 LS6.

It wasn’t a car;
it was a rottweiler with saliva
dripping from its teeth.

He disrupted neighbors’ sleep,
rousing tempers
everywhere.

It tore through streets
with a ferocious noise,
and at night, the headlights
looked like a cobra slithering
through the hills.

We soon met at the same crosswalk.
I sauntered cautiously to the other side.
His engine growled, ready to explode
down the road when the light turned green.

The guy sat behind the windshield
with a grin.

But that car—
that seething devil,
that satanic metal menace,
meant to molest peace…
I gave it a scowl as I crossed
in front of it.

When the light turned green,
the seething beast
aggressively
detonated like a bomb.

Tires screeched,
smoke churned from burning rubber;
the guy pushed his foot to the floor.

I grabbed my ears and looked back.
The guy gave me the middle finger.

I knew we’d meet again
and I’d get my revenge.

I didn’t have to wait long.
A block away, I heard the crash.
He dovetailed and hit a wall head-on
doing between fifty and sixty.
The driver survived,
the car didn’t.

The animal euthanized itself
in scattered glass and crumpled metal.

But I didn’t shed a tear.

In fact,
I smirked just like the driver.

Instant karma sure is sweet.