The night it blew up
To us it was a tempest in a teapot, no big deal, spit in the wind. A kerfuffle, if you will.
That fella, mad as a hatter, off his rocker, moon howler, who was bat shit crazy.
Jaywalking with his hunk of shit, crammed tight, crosswalk wide, piled high as heaven and stacked up to gawd
Every trinket, bauble, morsel of cruft, dollop of detritus straight from the dump
On his way from a third base effort, a second chance, toward his last resort
When the clothesline, the left tackle, rolling thunder, the Oscar the grouch on wheels
smashed, crashed, plowed, gadzooked him and his world into orbit
skids, screeches, gasps, trashes, bones, splats
Mister, missus, aunties and neighbors peeped, rubber-necked, gawked, wide-eyed the scene
To us it was a tempest in a teapot, no big deal, spit in the wind
But that fella had his bell rung, head spun, planets collide, sun extinguished — the night it blew up.
Week 14 of 52 Week Writing Challenge