Hullabaloo

driving down the interstate
on a very windy day
suddenly we hit a wall
an atmosphere of clay
slowing down as fast as can
was not quite fast enough
looming in the windshield
a pile of glass and rust
modern brake assistance
and divine intervention
spared us and our bumper
by a mere matter of inches
a voice inside said, “Get yourself
off this road post haste!”
we inched our way into the grass as
brakes squealed and cars pancaked
highway driving in zero vis
does not a pleasant drive make

Poetry Scales 225