Rickety Ride

By Cliff Lake

 

Rickety Ride

 

The busted machine,

The loss of wheels evident,

Running on greasy assurance

And overheated air,

Clicks, clanks, and grinds

Too close to every precipice,

Alarming the patrons,

Its driver drunk on his own exhalations,

The passengers hoping he makes a turn

Before they all hit

The big blue waves dead ahead.

Hijacked tunes blare from buzzing speakers,

Unpaid promises barely heard,

And clearly, blearily misunderstood.

Garishly colored slogans,

Borrowed from the wrong times,

And their worst heroes,

Make no pretense to education,

But promote imitation virtue,

None aboard can or will practice.

The sought destination

Is now a hill

This underpowered conveyance

May drive past,

But hardly climb.

The riders begin to suspect

They no longer head toward lofty seats,

And high positions,

But instead are inclined to dark obscurity,

Dim remembrance in some low place,

Relegated to a footnote few read,

Less remember,

And that none care about.

Better than prison…

Or even Russia…

Better get off at the next stop…

If you can…

 

Cliff Lake 8/18/2024

Copyright © Clifford Lake 2024

Location: 1100 S Ocean Blvd, Palm Beach, FL 33480, USA

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