It was the day the Goodyear blimp
Came down over Shacktown
And crashed on the highway
Next to the wrecking yard.
Winos put their bottles down;
Hookers spat out their johns;
The cops stopped beating Rodney King;
And chop-shop bandits dropped their tools
As flames scorched the brown ozone sky.
"Oh, the humanity!"
A reporter cried out in vain.
A few days later, a charred asphalt crust
Covered the space where the rubber
Finally met the road.
I steered around the "road closed" signs
And sped down the shoulder,
Holding my breath against vulcanized smoke.
Hell, I was late for work.
Copyright 2007 by Jon Gregory. Written in August 2003.