Down the Road

Death walks my garden,

sits in my tree house.

He pulls out his stopwatch

to count down my life.

I jump in my junker,

black smoke behind me,

to race toward

the hope of more time.

The road is deserted

and shrouded in darkness.

A boom and a wobble,

I pull to the side.

A tow truck pulls over

and hoists up my junker.

“You’ve blown a tire,”

the driver declares.

Death is the driver,

final exit our turn-off.

There never will be

a return home for me.

published in Medium