And I looked, and behold, a pale horse:
and his name that sat on him was death.
— Revelation 6:8.

Zoltan thinks outside the box,
dreams of plastic, chrome
and brusque acceleration:
horse made metaphorical.

But Honda, Nissan, Mazda and Toyota?
Hummm...
so awkward in a Christian eschatology.

Dragging on a Trezor Slim,
Zoltan deftly doctors the Apocalypse,
incorporates a souped-up engine,
wicked spoiler,
gear-stick a stallion would envy.

Boris, bar-room brawler,
and Dimitri are impressed.
Fingers flurry as they txt new threats,
plan aggro in the exegesis class.

Horizons are unzipped for Igor, too.
Who needs Famine when Excess will do?