Long before the wheel life
When travel meant kicking up
Clouds of choking dust
(That never reached me)
I cruised the tracks and trails
Finding what the travelers killed
Finding the killed travelers
And munching all without bias.
I wasn't picky.
Nothing to knock.
Just a part of the flock.
Now I cruise the highways, unhurried
Hanging on blackened fingers
While monsters roar by below
Giving me a bellyful
Of what cannot escape
Their frantic rush
To evade
At any price
The one predator
They all dread:
The ticking clock.