The Pothole

 

It started as a divot, a dip…then a rut

In the parking space next to mine

The asphalt was sinking, unnoticed at first

Till that space was all I could find

 

Listing to the right

I thought my tires were light

But upon checking

I saw they were fine

 

The hole it was growing

Without anyone knowing

That underneath

there once was a mine

 

It was swelling and gaping

And our bumpers were scraping

When we’d forget and

drive over the hole

 

Into the pothole I peeked

Not sure what I’d see

Be it a beak

or a foot or a dime

 

What I saw was pitch black

And no echo came back

In Chinese or

intelligent rhyme

The pothole’s still there

Awaiting repair

An orange cone upon it does rest

 

Meanwhile I still wonder

What happens down under

In that hole

in the space next to mine.