That smell

Walking down the street today
I got a whiff of something
It could have been roadkill
But it gave me such a craving
For corny-dogs.

Off to the Races

Three-eighths of a mile
Pitched and curved
Coated with asphalt
Rumbling, vibrating
To the sound of a thousand
Lawn mowers
Surrounded by gawkers
In lawn chairs.
Coolers prop up their feet.
Neon numbers
On stripped out hoopties
Accelerate, decelerate
Roar, then growl
Sprint, then dig
Hard into the sloping bank
Fishtailing, recovering
Drawing screams from the masses.
Smoke, dust, dreams of Daytona
The sweet smell of carbon emissions
Surrounding a checkered flag.

The De-Generation

Twenty-five years ago
a commercial might say
"Look at how cool 
our product can make you-
the opposite sex will adore you,
and jealous rivals, abhor you."
Then came today.
We're convinced we're the shizzle.
Near all advertisements
are brown-nosing dribble.
Just who is everyone else like you?
Da bomb, and nothing less-  dat's who!
Why should you buy?
Because you deserve it!
That line between haves
and have-nots is bent,
come get raped by
the credit that curved it.
Could it be that the worst
to befall a great nation
is a prideful, entitled,
and spoiled generation?

The Fettered Feather

As a feather in the hat
of The Man
It's odd how skill
and circumstance
Can wedge you tighter
beneath his thumb
When you should
be floating higher.