I Don’t Believe In Peter Pan, Frankenstein, or Superman

My brain-deadness has resulted in no poetry on this Friday. Again. I suck. Very well. (I truly did kick ass at our meeting last night, so insomnia does have benefits.)

On the way to work this morning, with absolutely no caffeine in my system, I happened to be mesmerized by a very large horse trailer blocking the road in front of me. I mean, this thing was 2 car lengths long, PLUS it was attached to one of those big honkin’ pick-em-up trucks that look like giant penises on wheels, complete with bulbous protuberances of back wheels taller than me, and I ain’t short. This giant caravan was attempting to turn a corner into a 2-way, 4 lane road, and completely blocked all four lanes of traffic. Uh…nice. I happened to be the first car behind this monstrosity after it turned. It actually hauled ass, I mean in a speed-way, which was odd given that the truck and trailer together weighed as much as the state of Rhode Island.

Anywho, down the street, the light turns red, we all stop. I snap out of my sleepy reverie to notice that the trailer is moving. Not just moving, I mean, “Don’t-come-a’knockin’-if-the-van-is-rockin” moving. Rhythmically, side to side. And I hear banging, like hooves on the inside, but not unsteady, more like music.

Rock, rock, rock, BANG!
Rock, rock, rock, BANG!
Rock, rock, rock, BANG!

I think the horses were having sex. I have no other explanation for it. Nothing else moves like that.

Or.

They were having a party, dancing to some sort of jams that humans can’t hear, crackin’ open bottles of oat-beer, smokin’ the doobies, flirting, and setting couches on fire.

Well, maybe not the fire thing.

And I’m pretty sure it was sex. I know my sex.

Rock, rock, rock, BANG!


Have a good weekend, y'all.