marks from fair-to-
good tires that
slid off the road—

though ‘slid’ isn’t
            exactly right, is it?

the way that
            lively rubber grabbed
            the asphalt—or
            how that pavement
even came to be—

they didn’t just walk
            off into the sunset,
—no, no

they forgot to pray forgot
            to vote forgot to die

the hood into the
            trunk—

I mean, they
            found pieces of
the hood in the
            trunk—

I mean, they went
            hoodfirst into
the trunk of a tree
     (at least that’s what I
     was told when I was 11)

but worse!:

trunkfirst reversing
            time, seeing it
opposite, his
            brains back into
            his skull, his
thoughts not his
own—(his foot off
     the gas back onto
     the brake with lights
     that work because he
     just changed them)
—a godsend
            heavensent, wayfaring
            citizen, a pedestrian

…no sorrow no pain…

—the hands of the clock
            only swing backward to
                        kill you

your bent arm
            crooked,

your marrow
sings when
you throw
a punch

and light still shines
            through the window

for as long as
            it has to.