Finals

This semester has been like a mud bog. I am the truck.
By now the truck has given up the exaggerated back and forth rocking that produced hare-like movements. Has given it up in favor of a steady application of half throttle. The cab is filled with choking rubber smoke and steam. The drone of the engine is contrasted by the screeching wine of the tires that have found their way through the slop to the hard slick clay base underneath. Both axles are pushing growing glob-like mounds of mud that is spilling over in front of the tires. The tires are eating away at these excesses and tossing them on the crowd and the truck itself. The tortoise-like movement has lost all momentum, and slows exponentially, but there's only a couple feet left.