Monday, April 7, 2014

Day 6: Drive-by Truckers

Day 6: Drive-by Truckers

Always necessary, yet the
backlash by frustrated women causes
classic fantasy; if you see a
driven trucker, take the back road, not an
easy route, you'll get your hands dirty.
Fuel up at the ominous crossover
garage where maintenance
hovers on thin wafts of brutal
intelligence.  These men can
juggle gears and drive shafts and
keep coming back to polish
Lambesis chrome, sing
murder for hire in overalls, commiserate
necessary lawyer suits, while nearby
oasis sprouts a city and brothers are arrested on
possession, reckless in their
query, you know how it
reads on the flyer: Mother,
she will fucking stroke when she hears.
Trouble with reality is, it's true,
unfortunately, that drive-by truckers
venture forth, a convoy streaming
with magno-tires and pipes smoking,
xi in number, rolling along flat
Yuma nocturnal,
zinging down the road.

Nancy Canyon

Note:  These poems are abecidarian.

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