Road Tooth

Got in the car, heard that soft hiss,

a sound I knew too well.

Pulled the wheel hard, tried not to miss

the cause of this small hell.

And there it was, a rusted head,

glinting dull in the morning sun.

Like a bad tooth, almost quite dead,

its dirty, sharp work done.

Embedded deep in the black wall,

a thief of air, a slow, grim bite.

Making my whole day stall,

just for a bit of metal's spite.

Now the shop, the waiting, the cost,

a tiny point, a big expense.

All that good air, slowly lost,

leaving me with this bad sense.