I Hear the Cars Race

I hear the cars race.

On the still night streets I hear it,
the rush of combustion, confusion of speed.

Power can slip through young fingers
like the leather leash of a big dog,
slashing tender hands.

I pray that they can hold on
or the beast will surely turn
and crush them
howling
like a
freight-train.

poem by Steven Federle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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