after she changed the locks
as you stumble to the car
throw yourself in, slam its broken door
turn over and over your anger
no muffler anymore; the tires shriek rage
the street lamp clicks on
its poisonous emanations of false hopes
everything blurs

later, pulling away from the on-ramp, heading for sunset
if you could push that stiff pedal
hard enough through the moaning floor
the dying western glow that's leaving you behind
would steady and brighten
and pour itself once more into your empty sky

Volume 1, Issue 2, 2007