I know this car like
I know my body
(some days not at all)
mostly the distance
between the mental gear
that rotates down
and the true surface
that makes contact
with pedal. My dad
would say, is this really
the one you want to go out on?
As opposed to, in his mind,
a 1976 F-100. I will not make it
so obvious for people. Who I
am, what my body is. Last
month somebody shattered
the rear passenger window
and took only a stuffed tiger
from my childhood. That is
seriously fucked up,
everyone said. Yes,
and why did it take me
an hour of picking glass
out of the dirt to notice
that it was gone?