There never was born a car that
Could see itself barelling down
The roads careening over overpasses,
Hanging suspended over the blue water.
If they could see, would they stall
In front of stop signs, huddling curbs,
The odds of their deaths known when
You get behind the wheel each day?
If they could speak, would their horns
Bleat desperate prayers of warning or
Would they continue, as they always have,
Never cease from any journey?
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