The highway flounders
aimless in the fug.

Headlights squint anaemic beams,
sun floats poached-egg-skinned.

Cresting the incline
eyes a-tuned to peripheral hazards pendulum left,
                                                                                right,
                                                                        left.
Right - two eagles
Raegan-broad-shouldered slouch proprietorially
over roadkill.

I... slow...
fearing the fellows might fright -
don't want an eagle hood ornament, thanks, mate.
The boys peer narrowly,
broody-suspicious,
all bristling eyebrows and leery assessment
wary as gunslingers
they closely follow car's receding trajectory.

'Slim pickings,
boys,' I drawl, mildly amusing myself,
then chuckle.

The highway continues rolling unread credits.