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Logan Robertson Jun 2018
She may not have been your prototype teen or hiree.
Or of the masses. Or herd.
However, she did walk into a McDonald's
approach the counter
emit an esoteric exchange for help with the cashier
and with knowing eyes
the cashier directed her to the starting gate.
Now
with application in hand
and blue ribbons in her eyes
she was off to the horse races,
nervousness riding on her shoulders.
In my eyes, she was a longshot to win,
where I could see her shoes falling off
before the race started.
And her imaginary jockey falling off her horse
from laughing so hard,
for she presented herself through the restaurant
and a job interview with a Starbucks frappe,
totally oblivious of her unwrapping.
It would be like turning up for a Yankee's job
in a Red Sox outfit.
Who would do this?
As the rubberneckers, I looked on.
Incredulous.
She took her seat at a vacant table
carrying her youth awkward.
Her looks of brown hair, eyes, and raw innocence
complimentary.
But those jeans, high risers, with holes in the knees
with a white Bebe shirt that hugged her shape
shouted trendy but not job interview.
Oh, my.
She continued the procession
extracting info from her phone
and filling out her application.
No doubt with votive candles at her side
and prayers on her lips.
And perhaps blue ribbons awaiting.
After all, this was her foot in the door.
It was at this time
I had an epiphany moment
tears welling in my eyes
as I slipped on hamburger choices
and sipped on past life on a teether,
totally oblivious, too.
It was like looking in the mirror.
Her youth and awkwardness and my growing decadence
towards the light.
When the manager came in and summoned her
to the interview table,
which was located in the dining room,
I saw a little kitten purr inside of her,
where her eyes nervously checked her surroundings.
At first introduction,
the reddening blush on her face and Adam's apple
stood pronounced
but her low voice was choked.
Almost inaudible.
As the manager put her calming hands
into hers
the light turned on
all foreboding escaping.
All misplaces and tense faces replaced with aces.
This was a defining moment for her,
as the golden arches braced her feet,
making all the rubberneckers, me, proud.

Logan Robertson

6/6/2018
David Bremner Sep 2018
The M6 is slow southbound north of Lymm.
Queuing likely Junctions 4 through to 3.
Accident on the slip-road at Strensham
South. Rubberneckers slowing just to see.
Busy clockwise on the M25.
Overturned tanker - now down to one lane.
Rush-hour traffic, best avoid the drive.
M62 heavy westbound again.
Ongoing road works on the A1 (M).
High sided vehicles avoid the Forth
Bridge. Reports of a breakdown just come in
For those leaving the M5 heading north.........
  Felicity comes, I turn off the dial
  The traffic has cleared - if just for a while.
For more information, including the origin of Honku, please visit the official website:
www.honku.org



Clogging traffic flow
twin, brake riders in the lane,
they're really a pain.



America's love -
Unsupervised car racing
on our new highways.



Rubbernecking state:
Welcome to Connecticut,
spend more time on road.



Suggestion only?
Painted lines are optional
for lane straddlers.



Forget the roadkill!
Rubberneckers demonstrate...
Lust for dead bodies.
First, Tom Cochran, and next, Rascal Flatts,
sang that
     Life is a Highway
and that's partially true if
you're willing to consider that
     coasting is not an option
that you rarely have the opportunity
to drive hundreds of miles without
rubberneckers or blue Q-Tips driving
     forty in a sixty-five
to drive from Napa to San Diego without
stopping for mixed nuts and a frozen coffee
     and Smartfood
to drive with movie-like abandon without
the Thelma & Louise slo-mo sending you
     careening toward the crevasse
Life is a highway riddled, web-like, with
unexpected off-ramps and
unforeseen on-ramps and
inconvenient detours that take you places
     you never dreamed you'd go
          you never thought you'd end up
but there are
     rest stops and
     diners and
     fruit stands offering organic sunshine
and there are
     flat tires and
     empty tanks and
     road crews repaving your path in 104 degree heat
and there are
     national parks and
     natural wonders and
     the world's largest frying pan
      the world's largest ball of twine
       the world's crookedest road
        the world's newest you
Your life is a highway that is made of
     choices
which lead you on your own
Choose-Your-Own-Adventure
with epic battles for good and evil and
pots of gold at the end of sprinkler-rainbows and
endless hints that
     YOU MAY ALREADY BE A WINNER!!!
Your life is a highway and
     if you miss your off-ramp
accept your new path
           . . . because there's no going back and
     if you miss your on-ramp
enjoy the scenery and the cows and the Texas Stop-Signs
           . . . because you never know when you'll
see them again
Your life is a highway and
     this is your off-ramp, so
take it with
          your eyes open to wonder
          your heart open to magic
          your life open to change
               because that is you evolving
Honor the view in your rearview mirror as you
keep your eyes on the horizon and
     with joy
      with fear
       with electric anticipation
Take your exit!
Hannah Elizabeth Dec 2013
I’ll continue to be distracted by my self,
shifting glances towards the door
window, cars

that almost wreck into
horrific could’ve-beens.

what you are
is more than every speculation
of the rubberneckers.

it’s been six days
since I saw your face
that quivered with fear.

Or was it embarrassment
that vigorously shook your jaw?

the mortification, I, too, once felt
sliding down closet walls, splintering
into millions of fragmented emotions.

don’t shatter your jaw with the pulsations
that come from the other you.
the you that sends ugly messages
from the depths of your skull.

distract yourself with each and every
fall in the cadence of my voice
that collapse like water over boulders,
while their quiet hum beckons ugly messages
from the depths of my skull.
(20 minute poetry)


Light blue touch paper and run.

Bangers
hangers on
I always seem to be around
when the underground gun
goes off.

It's like bubble gum
a sticky mess.

Stress?
you could say,
although it may be
a due paid to me
for
imagining things might
get better.

Friday should be a good day
will be a good day if I get
my way.

At the present time
I'm located
to the left of the
Central line

Zombies in berets
nibbling on cold chicken cuts
old men who look like death
warmed up
(which the chicken should have been)

I've seen bare thighs and black eyes,
a neat nest of ******* and more
this I suppose is what the Central line's for,
the gawpers and those that stare, the rubberneckers who don't care that you know.

If I closed my mind to this carriage I could find a way to escape
but I'm curious and always will be
I want to see the cauldron,
life bubbling, boiling, frothing up, want a sip of the nectar.
I detect a
whiff of disapproval or it could be stale sweat which you get now and then from the zombies and old men and cold chicken cuts.
Steve Matthews Oct 2020
Like flies on stink.
Like hair on a gorilla.

The ghouls and goblins.
The rubberneckers. The media.

Here the camp.
Here the shrine.

They gasp. They cluck.
They repeat and repeat.

Until the next one.
Until they pick up and move on.

— The End —