Beaming red and green and glint marked hint
of future accident scenes,
a loaded truck of kerosene has lubed
the crude of inbound tanker.
A ball of flame with comet tail—
a trail of hail from earthbound trouble,
alien attack at Def-Con one.
Is there a horizon line at night?—
because there’s something out there.
Two low lights, then high—
three, two, four, then one, one, one,
one, one, one, one, and one.
All lime and brown like stealth flight
across the sky, including a red glow.
Jackknifing blades, rein chaos—
spy innocent victims.
Soft cotton candy crash landing,
a pile up over and over—
a big sack and a midnight snack
spill across driveways and rooftops.
Santa’s been drinking again.
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