Generic

well, they looked like bombs 
half the size 
of a bowling ball, an oily black 
with its kindled wick, 
i wondered who 
put orange flame to its fuel. 
murky black night, 
asphalt wash outs 
from the flood, 
bridge out ahead, i prayed 
mom would see it 
in time. 
the car sickness, 
never as bad in the dark, 
yet made me want to lie down. 
then who would observe 
and sound the alert 
if she missed a road block? 
not a peril i was willing to endure. 
nor dared i gasp and shriek 
out loud, for nothing. 
as we sped by the smudge pots 
i smelled the unidentified 
kerosene emanating from them; 
wind stirred by our car 
caused them to flicker wildly 
in the thick darkness. 
i feared if she hit one 
it would explode and 
we would be blown to bits. 
hey, i was six. 
 
02-04-11 
©tlp 2011