Day Forty-six

Today's words:

Fact

Resting

Button

Steering wheel

Storm

Decay

"I'm beat, and that's a fact,"

He said, resting

His head on the seat back. I pushed the button

To start the car and put my hands on the steering wheel.

"There's a storm

"Coming; we'll have to try to outrun it. Otherwise it's all decay

"Around here."

It was the kind of pervasive decay

That settles in around abandoned suburbs. It's a fact

That those who grew up here have fled, escaping the storm

Of boredom that was their childhood. I spent mine resting

In the car, my head on the steering wheel,

Too bored to even button

My blouse.  It's as if someone pressed a button

And my will to live was gone, as decay

Set in. So I grabbed the steering wheel.

We'll escape now, before the fact

Of relentless suburban boredom comes and finds us resting,

Vulnerable to the storm.

"That's right, storm

"Off as usual, like every time you come here." "Don't press that button.

"I warn you. You may think it's just resting,

"But it's not, and it will get you too. The decay

"Will eat your soul, and that's a fact."

I turned the steering wheel,

Easing us out of the cul-de-sac. I'll lash myself to the steering wheel,

Like the captain of a boat riding out a storm.

There's no fact

That can save us if we stay here, only the button

Of sure decay

Resting

On the dining-room table, resting

On the steering wheel.

Decay 

The would unleash a storm

Just by pushing a button.

It's not a fact

That resting will bring on the storm,

But why tempt fate? Hands on the steering wheel, a button

Clenched in your teeth, knowing that decay is the only fact.