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.

~