I climbed a motor,
Way before it was pervaded
But within a stitch,
I was being pressed
Against the aged rusty body
And like the clothes stuffed on a bale,
We pushed one another
So like a scampering rat
Aiming to elude the reaping paw of the cat,
The motor raced
Minding very little about the potholes
And the protruding bumps.
My heart throbbed with violence
For I knew that shortly,
My flesh would be sparsely lying
In the singeing tarmac
Ahead was the savior, dressed in a tincture
And in the hand a truncheon,
Waved once killed the motor
And we were on his feet, motionless!
I sighed with a fat relief,
For they had vowed to enforce the tarmac laws
But his hand slipped into the tout’s
And emerged enclosed,
The scampering resumed faster,
The motor had lost a precious minute.
I started envisioning myself in the casket,
Embayed by the mourning masses
But by the mercy of the creator,
I alighted not bruised.
So I knelt down and prayed,
But laughed at the law enforcers