Second Thoughts

Just above
The bourne
It rises
Huge and white.

Like a face
In a globe
Bloated
And distorted,

Resting just above
The horizon
On the road
Before us.

It’s a genial,
Happy face…
A little pale,
A bit grim.

But as we get in
The car
And head
Towards it;
It opens its mouth
And yawns...

And we drive in.

My last thought
As it swallows:

“I won’t do that again.”