649 Road Narrows 1-6-17 go to 580 for key word search

Main Street
divides our town in half.
Its tributaries, all three of them,
join it in the weird angled deltas
the stone and creek topography
our craggy mountain creates.
Then, it sneaks out of sight,
circling the mountain like an apple skin,
expertly pealed with a sharp knife
and laid haphazardly along the edges,
dotted with octagonal signs,
warning of tight curves,
the road turning back on itself
again and again and again,
speeds zones changing from
creeping to inching along.
“Caution-Road Narrows” signs in spots
where two lanes melt into
one lane creaky wooden bridges
crossing Spring-times raging torrents
and late Autumns gurgling brooks.

seven of our more enterprising youths,
(determined young bastards, the lot of them),
wheel-barrowed eighty some cinder blocks
down the road at 2:AM and quickly, secretly,
transformed the narrowing road coming right after
a sharp, short-sighted curve and just in front
of one of our many wooden bridges
into a two cinderblock high, V-shaped trap
which, four hours later,
crushed the tires and bent the axles of a new Honda Odyssey
owned by a leaf peeping tourist
from St. Petersburg, Florida,
driving here to visit his newly settled sister and brother-in-law
and “experience” our glorious Autumn.

I guess the boys had to much time on their hands.

our town sheriff is no hick slouch.
Justice had her day in court.
The parents of our budding road engineers
paid reparations for the catastrophe
while the dastardly perpetrators are doing penance
with groundings for eternity and community service,
(mostly road repair),
until our little hamlet grows into some future metropolis,
with street lights.

And the clock on our town-hall tower ticks on and on.

the Floridians teen-aged nephew,
a compatriot but not co-conspirator
of “The Gang of 7 Highwaymen”,
swears that his uncle now stops at any hint
of any bend in any road,
parks his new Prius as well off the side of the road as he can,
creeps out and checks,
just to make sure that
Fate’s not warming up on the mound,
getting ready to pitch him another
sliding curve,
low, tight and inside
on the knuckles.

About Ken Greenman

Married and Happy. Retired and busy. Living in NC. 71 and counting. December 12, 2020 and it's 72! ... I would love some written comments, critiques, adulation or kind suggestions.... If you have the time and or inclination, please feel free! Not in fear but by faith. We will see. See you later! If you ever want to talk for real, email me and I will send you my cell number.... I am enjoying this!
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