home is a matchbox and pocketknife
buried in the cargo pants that don’t change.
everything carefully categorized, compressed and cleaned
before departure,
now crammed into corners just out of reach
from the driver’s seat.
single key on the chain.
two sets.
but no one to hold onto the spare.
stream of horizontal lines empty cans
diesel signs
ticking away the odometer.
radar enforced but not controlled.
the cracks on the windshield slowly spread.
wonder if they’ll find each other
somewhere in the heartland.
and whether the engine will make it
from this coast to the next.
bet your life
on nothing but liability coverage.
keep your eyes on the road
not the rearview.
