Inkling

Did she have a clue
About what he’d just done?
The way he’d crawled across the floor
And tried to make a run?

He briefly thought of fessing up
Not groovy, he was only a goober
But that would mean more of her drama
He had better just call an Uber

At that moment, who should pull up?
It was her, in her bright red electric
She must’ve assumed he was not feeling well
As he crawled and paid, she’d collected it

It was only as they were driving off
He remembered they’d come in a Fiesta
Unbeknownst to him, she had an evil twin
An evil twin who owned an evil Tesla!

Poetry Scales 226