WHERE THE RUBBER FINALLY MET THE ROAD

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.