Tire Hangar Hypnotic

My eyes are drawn to it
As I approach from the rear
The swinging pendulum of fascination
The "look at me" there's something missing
Flashing neon light
Eat At Joe's

Spare tire hanger swing-in-ation

It's just hanging in the breeze
Allowing gravity to tug at it
First this way
Then that
As the truck curves around curves
And turns around turns
Angling towards me as they accelerate
Trying to pull away as they brake

I can't keep my eyes off of it

I wonder in my head
If they even have a spare tire anymore
Or if it's already on the car
Or forgotten in some dusty garage
Or empty field

I guess I'm just one of those people
Those ones your parent's warned you about
The kind that likes to know
That if I actually had a blowout
Or run over a screw
That there would be a plan in place
Something logical and simple
A place on the vehicle to stash a spare
With a jack and a wrench to add assist

On this particular truck
All logic like that would be missed
If that person has a flat
Or has a bear chew on his left rear
They'll be stuck wherever they are at

Flare down
Red hanky on the antennae
Whatever mode of signaling tickles them most
Because they won't be going anywhere
With the spot where
You would find the spare
Nothing but empty air
The hangar dangling in space
Waving every which where

And if they flag me down as I pass
I may slow
I may stop
Depends on the who

And if it's a chick
I'll certainly pull over to assist
Provided of course
She first shows her tits