The Colossus of Roads

With acrid black smoke in its wake
A molossus appears
Brake Brake Brake

The Colossus of Roads

White-faced and shaking
Taking his time
Breath painfully short
He climbs from the cab
But slips and grabs for support

This thing… this morning
No warning

It had a mind of its own
The lorry was seeking a quarry
Not of stone
But of flesh and of blood and of bone

The Colossus of Roads

It isn’t the man - it’s the truck
This morning it woke in a rage
And it struck

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