Sledgehammer.

Like a bus

that couldn’t stop,

its driver, legs locked-

board-straight,

baring down-

the desperate weight,

the failing of brakes;

beneath heavy feet,

where the tires

touch street

screeching, scraping

metal shavings

but, all forsaking

can’t quite stop

in time not to

run right over me.

The Sledgehammer swings,

it’s wielder, well-meaning-

momentous force-

impact to the chest

sets into course,

broken by the best

of darkness creeping

right in through

my own big mouth.

One thought on “Sledgehammer.

  1. kat says:

    great imagery

    Liked by 1 person

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