That old rust bucket Chevy on cinder
blocks stopped running right around the recession.
I've been holding place ever since.
When a girl's without wheels,
time stops and stalls. Her gears
grind the years - like a stick shift
with a bad transmission. I'd like
to visit myself somewhere,
but walking's hard
on my knees. I content myself
with the heat mirage shimmering
off the blacktop.
When a girl's without wheels
anywhere is a good place to go.
For The Tuesday Platform at Real Toads