A not so pleasant drive

I’m trapped in my old sedan.

It’s like the Sicilian Bull,

the fires roasting me,

and in agony, I pound

the steering wheel

and press the horn,

though the hairpin bends

as sharp as scythes

stay deserted,

except for the hard rain,

the water like blood sluicing,

the wipers like metal claws

scraping the glass in desperation.

On either side, tea plantations

like incisions

on a masochist’s wrist haunt.

The mist envelopes like white pus,

and I can’t see the dying light

circumscribed by

the mutinous night

with her crescent moon—

her war horn with

symbols of anarchy.

A hooded man

passes like the reaper in flesh.

My shrieks echo,

and the car burns the wet asphalt,

leaving tire marks

like another layer of infection

on a gangrenous wound.

My headlights

clamp the air

like crocodile shears,

tearing its appendages

of oxygen and nitrogen.

The fume from my exhaust pipe

settles on crushed,

empty paper cups

like acid poured on

a battered, torture victim’s face.

I ascend,

yanked by some invisible force

like a mongrel tied

to the back of a motorcycle

and then dragged across

winding curve

after winding curve

because it bit the driver.

Fate is the driver,

and I am the dog.

I should have never rebelled.

I should have never

played with his dice,

tossed it like a

chewed off mutton bone.

The car has a few dents

like keloids that eventually form

if one keeps itching scabs.

It’s running low on fuel

like a terminally ill patient

in the ICU losing his life-force.

The tires pass over a thin trunk

with spindly branches

like a spine yanked out

with thoracic nerves attached.

I don’t see it, and it pierces one

like a rusty nail impales a big toe.

The air fizzles out

like the entrails

of a sacrificed goat.

A loud pop like a gunshot

to the head.

I lose control and spin.

The car careens

like bloody vomit

and smashes a signboard

saying 12/24.

Glass shatters

like bones cracking

when stepped on

by football studs.

My head hits the dashboard

like a plate thrown,

smashing into a wall.

I gradually drift in and out

of consciousness

like a man after a snake bites him.

Photo by Clément Falize on Unsplash

5 responses to “A not so pleasant drive”

  1. Now I know why you don’t drive. This poem was very intense. Loved it.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you very much. I did meet with an accident when driving. Not such a dramatic one though lol. After that, I couldn’t do it anymore.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. On these roads here, it’s hard not to get into an accident

        Liked by 1 person

  2. Intense ride…so many visuals in this piece!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you so much Dawn. i wondered for a second if I’d gone overboard with the similes lol.

      Liked by 1 person

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About Me

Ordinary Person is a guy who likes to write. He writes fiction, essays, poems and other stuff.


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