hubcaps and flying saucers

a hubcap discarded,
popped off a rim (maybe a old Crown Vic? an Impala? a Park Avenue?) 
and left balancing on the curb,
overlooked,
unseen,
put out of mind,
like an oil covered bird,
like a barrel of oil into the river,
like 5 million barrels into the ocean,
I try not to think about it,
this debt,
we owe,
a physical debt,
this psychic debt,
this debt of the soul,
instead I'll wish a hubcap a flying saucer,
I could get in,
and fly off,
the burning world behind me,
burn away the corporate terrorists,
give the extremists their peace,
the apocalypse they always wanted,
the one they keep trying to bring on,
the one in their hearts,
the forever blood feuds,
the black and white,
the pre-negotiative mind,
that doesn't sleep,
but must shout it's opinion because no one listens,
so I stop in,
I throw them back,
(am I too old to be throwing them back?)
and then leave and keep walking,
and smell that fresh rain smell,
and watch the street lights shimmer,
and watch a record store owner pull the metal gate across and close for the night,*
and keep wishing a hubcap was a flying saucer.










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*permissibly stolen from a late night text by a cousin of mine who sends me some gems.