Twenty Four Hours from Pulsar
Heading upon three daylight,
Seems as dry as three nightlight.
Them crows sat rigid in sighing twilight.
Me, stuck fretting again
Waiting for the wheelwright.
~
‘Your universal joint’s gone west,
its serious, I’ll do my best.’ He frowned.
The tension is killing me
so I kick it back hard in the nuts.
It bolts.
You could not see its heels for dust.
‘I’ve cracked it!’ groaned the wheelwright straightening up.
‘You had pre-stressed oil: now you ain’t.’
I danced with joy, it started raining.
I only know the rain dance.
~
Grimbeau 