Jack Frost
The Driving Instructor waits outside for me in the most remotest location
My Rich Father insists that I learn how to drive
before he terminates the chauffer, who’s grown much too old to control the automobile in this snowy oasis.
The Rolls Royce Engine warms it self up
light touch of the gas pedal; melting away the frozen embankment
The driving instructor is growing impatient
I can see him pacing with ulterior motives in his over coat, through the window like a funneling globe observation
The snowflakes sting my face, as I walk the long drive way to him
the tall gates open on the estate
“Master Frank” - he greets me with a joyous ovation: A bright red, ice cold oval face glowing in stoic embracement...
His eyes bright blue, making the temperature feel like zero below - from the frozen rope of his gaze
Once inside of the Rolls Royce: the cozy, luxurious feeling of warm leather seating against your soul, your so emblazoned
Snakeskin steering wheel
made from the smooth scales of a boas vertebrae
I position my hands 10 to 2 and check my rearview: which is a bleak, morbid oasis of precipitation blowing and swaying
The carpet of the car is wooly mammoth
flown in from an archeologist site that found its bones in total arrangement, flowing in its soft brown mange throughout the cabin: open and spacious
I shift the Rolls Royce out of park,
and the tires spiraled and spiraled, until they roasted and smoke rose from the eroded tire before it broke free, and rolled out unscathed
“Always fasten your seat belt first”
The driving instructor said, checking a box with a bold engraving
The car stalled to a slow stop.
I had gotten out, and pushed the car through the pine cone fragrance
A crisp lungful of arctic air roaming into your encasing: You exhale and see your breath like a ghost in a blanket
The Driving Instructor is beeping the horn
- that echoes in the mountains like a roller coaster vibration
I appear like a deer in the head lights –
A look of hopeless derangement
A cherry reddish nose: bitten by the bitter winter – red with the hint of purple from the exposure to this abrasive flurry that has stoned me with strobes after strobe of snow that I’m facing...
Whiteout blustery conditions, the Driving Instructor has radioed for the station
My earlobes turned into icicles that hung low like ornaments that easily broke on the pavement...
My heart beats slows down to a scary tempo.
I sloped over into the snow and made an angel: holy and sacred
I stood up in a white outfit that made me look like Pope Franklyn
The tingling in my toes was serrating: my clothing heavy with snow like a robe with its weight an
I watched the Driving Instructor get towed away.
The rear lights in the blizzard like two Rudolph's going to chase him
Jack Frost never did get this drivers license
the road not taken
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VETWORK
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