Game Called Circle

Preliminary evaluations suggest we should check our speed
because moving to quickly in reverse at our current trajectory
is grounds for chastising.   When the little old ladies with wrinkled
faces and sweaty palms prone to speeding while under the influence
of anti-psychotics witness our insane bouts of banana driving
they will be implemented into your plot and proceed to push the pedal
to the metal.   The race will be on but the clock will be in reverse
and the smell of nursing homes will emit out of the exhaust pipe
of her Lincoln town car.   The sort of automobile reserved for the gods
of Egypt, that is too say ancient and falling to pieces because a bucket
of bolts is always set to overflow as the pavement is littered with potholes
and the wheels are sinking in.   There are no winners but there are also
no losers because everyone is falling behind, and continuing toward a point
in the beginning that they were always continuing toward.   The crowd
scratching its head in joined bewilderment will begin to file out with their
disappointed fountain sodas, and half eatin ball park franks.   While we discuss the future and continue bouncing about and spilling our guts about the world we live in
and our geriatric rivals watching us through competitive eyes parallel to our ride.

Ignoring the evaluations we are caught up in the conversation, and that
is when the lightning storm arrives.   Just in time the lightning flashes,
so we hit the brakes on the edge of the Atlantic, but the denture wearing
NASCAR grandmas don't know how to counteract so that their boat sized
Lincoln town cars fly off the docks and cliffs and splash down in ocean time.
Those crafty broads are safe and sound ejecting from sun roofs and pulling
parachute cords so that they float down like brittle flowers into the roar of a raging
sea.  We are there proud to be the leaders of the race, and crafting smiles as we laugh
at our shared interests.  The past generation has no hope to proceed passed the finish line,
and they were watching us for tricks but now they float in the ocean waiting for pick up.
No competition when it sabotaged itself, and though we are so far behind
we are now in the lead, and recover just fine.   Negative numbers dwindle to zero and we go on through to the finish and do laps around our words, and ignoring the catastrophe around
us we are set to come out on top.  I make a sign of the cross and you feel my cheek with a cold
palm, and when the kiss occurs I know it always was set to occur, and we
drink our victory champagne and we dance the night away while the coast guard gives
the little old ladies blankets and hot coffee because they are shaking and shivering off
the water in minute little droplets.