The other day, I was biking to work,
doing my bit
to save the world
when I almost got run off the road
whirled onto the curb
spun off, blinged,
dinged
by this giant beast of a vehicle
on giant tires
better fit for a children’s swing
on giant rims that induce nausea
the way they start and stop
all random-like,
with bumpers the size of futons,
all lowered to the ground ghetto-stylez.
a “utility” hay wagon.
It was taking up an entire lane
spewing its soot out of filthy exhaust pipes
the size of sewer lines.
Thanks, asshole,
I have to breathe this second-hand smoke shit.
You’re killing me and Mother Earth.
Fucker.
The windows were all masked-like,
voyeur eyes wide shut
they were kind of like curtains, separating the haves
and the have-nots,
But you could see all the yahoos on board anyway
everybody crammed into El Escaladór
as if it were going out of style,
sliding around on what were probably fake-leather seats,
yakety-yaking on their cellphones…
perhaps…to each other?
The turbine whine
and the clack-clack-clatter
of the I saw, I conquered, I Cummins
diesel engine block
barely concealing the banal
chit-chit-chatter
on their lil leukemia glocks
everyone giving the performance of their life
their own lil
Truman Show
reality-T.V.
high society
of Le Grand Spectacle
(‘cause everything has so much more pathos when it’s lived like a French movie, Steve)
“i’m flossin’ down the avenuhuhuhu…”
they were all waxing
ears-deep
in their own lil
LIKE-OMG-WTF-BBQ-LOL drama,
giving innocent bystanders the ENTIRE contents
of half of it,
and saving
none of it
for their momma.
The driver too was on a celly,
frontin’, feelin’ it, lovin’ it
one hand nonchalantly resting
on the ridiculous Ferris steering wheel,
hippety-hoppety
gangedy-bangedy
superstyling
bling clanging,
swing low sweet chariot
ready for a drive-by bumpin’
ready to kill
(if merely through not paying attention to the road)
I swear the only thing missing from this Beastur was a magnetic ribbon slapped on for the super troopers, supporting them with millions
no billions
of its electrons,
like a yellow Band-Aid
But at least I’m glad someone else spent a ridiculous amount of money on this behemoth,
And that someone else is paying the stupid tax
by having to front cash they probably don’t have
for all that gas being guzzled
Even though
I’m the one who’s left
who’s behind
Frazzled
Dazzled
by the sunset-soot
That I’m breathing in
like there’s no more air left to breathe.
You loser.
You and your fucking cruiser
should stop your fallutin’
cease your pollutin’
of my air,
and my land.
…
I really hate it when buses cut me off in traffic.
asocial studies 