Rolling down the mountain I see the sign, “Runaway Truck Ramp.”
I wonder, “What would it feel like driving an eighteen-wheeler;
Losing my brakes half-way down the mountain at seventy mph?
Would I panic or stay focused?
I would guide my rig right into that welcomed sand trail
Carving grooves // sinking in all the way to my axles
Coming to a rumbling halt half-way up.”
“Yes, that would definitely be the thrill of a lifetime!”
Photo: Dwight L. Roth
Today at d’Verse Frank asked us to write a soliloquy (a literary effect of having a conversation with yourself in a poem). This is my first attempt at a soliloquy. I hope it is close to being correct!
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