remorse and regret— two old tires, retreaded too many times, that go whUmpwhuMp, all the way down the highway, making you wonder when they’ll blow (always hit the road with fresh rubber, eh, Alice?)
A Prayer Like Gravity
Mundus vult decipi
remorse and regret— two old tires, retreaded too many times, that go whUmpwhuMp, all the way down the highway, making you wonder when they’ll blow (always hit the road with fresh rubber, eh, Alice?)
A Prayer Like Gravity 
Ha! I have a notebook called “I used to be … a car tyre” – the cover is made out of a recycled tyre. On the back cover is a blurb that says: “My last wish is to be recycled not buried or burnt. If you can’t recycle me please send me back to my maker.” … which stopped me short – wHumP;
unfortunately the company that produced this has gone into administration
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Nice humour Mark 😀 I used to be a tyre fitter not the best job but somehow quite satisfying 🙂 I much prefer IT now 😀
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Well, when it comes to these old tires, sending them back is prime. The question is who’s the maker, and who the recycler?
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a question that just goes round and round …
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Whimp-Imp-imP
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Very nice poem, JCC. I’ve been thinking and dreaming a lot lately about the recycling of the human spirit. I must be channeling you. Maybe there’s a country song in this one.
Alice
Honey. I’m sorry.
None of this is your fault.
I’ve been re-treaded
once too often after
too many highway miles
driven hard and long
send me home to my maker
to be ground and recycled
into black asphault pavement
cover that long highway
with my body and soul
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