On the fast lane

His wagon rushed like a wanton thought
etching its own free course, as his
torpid mind stared through drowsy eyes,
dancing from those shots of spirits.

The wagon found its prey, driving over
drooping bodies and dreamy minds
relieving them of poverty and of life
and leaving behind a few orphans.

His mind was still dancing.

This is for all those people who sleep on pavements and beneath flyovers. Where we wake up to sunshine, they are truly lucky to even count another new day -- not run over by careless drivers.