I have a weird problem with my car.
It makes some scary sounds and
Yeah, it leaks oil… but it traps me, too.
I’ll jump in to leave after work and then
Get mad at still being here fifty minutes later.
Maybe if my car weren’t a junk yard of books and
Crumbs, packets of Emergen-C and as many pennies
As pens– perhaps then I could just get in and drive.
Not get stuck munching on the box of Captain Crunch
That lives behind the passenger seat while
Some pages keep me prisoner.
Sometimes that thing happens like now
When I start writing on my phone and
It’s just meant to be an outline of ideas but
Instead becomes a whole poem. It’s 5:05 and
A co-worker just waved and reminded me
I should be home by now. Not listening
To highway. And anyway this would be better
If I were comfy– less clothes and tree sounds
Through open windows. It’s not logical
To sit in a parking lot for an hour and
A half. 5:26. Traffic, here I come.
Please, I need help.