It smelled of gasoline.
A lone tire twisted
in protest as the
rest of the Earth stopped.
I felt suddenly tired.
The tired that burns your
lungs to breathe and holds
your hands clenched and
crossed to your chest.
There was a strip mall
across the street, but the
signs were half out, and the
names of the stores were illegible.
The streetlight flickered from
amber, to red, green again.
It smelled of gasoline. Late spring air
thick with new and unwelcome scents.
I felt each breath choke down into me
and looked at the sky, dark with the stars,
none visible in the city light.
There was schrapnel strewn about.
Charred metal fuming atop the street.
It was all one could do to look
at the flickering of the streetlight,
the signs with the names of the shops, the
dimmed sky, all with tired
eyes and clenched fists.
It smelled of gasoline. The light flickered
back to red.
The tire came to a
still and fell over.