Smoking Lizard is Walking, Now. - A poem of bad drivers of winter

Smoking Lizard is back,
confined to tennis shoes, nowadays,
no wheel in his hand while wandering,
just the feet to command
as he steers flesh.

Amid pea-soup fog,
he guides me along sidewalks
crusted over with many slick ices,
black, white, and crunchy remains
of snow never shoveled.

He turns my head,
as I shuffle along slow,
noting the idiots out driving around,
too many to count accurately,
driving like it's dry.

He makes the feet
seek the few dry spots
or salt trails dribbled out thick
where the sanders spilled loads
as they prepped roads.

His wariness is there,
that old survival instinct intact,
finding the safe places to step,
letting me note the idiots
making risky driving decisions.

One foolish pickup rolls
out from the corner convenience,
pulling out across two traffic lanes,
fishtailing into the turning zone
between double yellow lines.

Another blazing down hill
lays on his horn loud,
never trying to slow breakneck speed
having run the red light,
sliding across the road.

Both roll down windows,
scream profanities, toss hand gestures,
then keep on their destructive quest
to find an early grave,
crunching into things soon.

Another revs his engine,
sitting at the stop light,
raging at the fact he's late
not seeing how far out
his hood now sits.

All this, and more,
like ice rivers flowing wetly,
waiting to bring my aching body
down to hard, waiting concrete,
the Lizard avoids easily.

Pipe clenched between teeth,
the Lizard brain just grins,
as he dances me along paths
he's been eyeing for weeks,
knowing what inversions bring.

Face wreathed in smoke,
I let him keep control,
trusting the lizard brain's decisions utterly
against those of distracted drivers,
who text on ice.

The fog thickens more,
as I reach a goal,
the diner, where I now write,
relaying the moves of fools,
while Smoking Lizard preens,
having succeeded again
in preserving
me.

With Caution, Wisdom, and
skills honed by long decades
of being in charge while smoking.
Me, I let him gloat,
until he screws up.
HE just grins,
and puffs,
content
with getting
me safely here.

7Jan2016 - A very smug Smoking Lizard, or is that Dyfedd Rex? Never can tell after a walk like this.