They Can Read The Fine Print
By Christopher J. Bradley
3/7/01 7:39:24 PM
I passed the site of a blazing fire
With several cherry red trucks arranged outside of it
There was water everywhere on the dirty ground
And men in yellow fire coats were rushing toward the flame mirage.
I was directed forward
With a lighted cone
By a volunteer fireman
In a blue and white vest.
It seemed that in the township
There was still no where safe to park
I considered stopping in an office complex
But then proceeded.
There was a long road ahead anyway
One with a path of flashing lights
They were pinging me
And holding the unauthorized back.
By not aligning them with me exactly.
I opened the glovebox and took out the CD case
And placed the discs inside on the dashboard
I flipped them back side up
So that the data could be read by the birds
Music is so complex
That mixing two styles
And then melding them with purple liquid
Was going to block out those without clearance.
I was in my greens and ready to hash it out
My shoes were tight on my feet.
I used my blinkers once or twice to break an arrow
On those who sped around me.
And I clenched my teeth like Grey Grantham
That writer must have covered those sorts of actions before.