Saturday Poem

Getting my oil changed

and Jeremiah speaks kind    he knows motors    his assessments include what’s
dirty    I am not my car I forget to say    the oil has come    and engines can stutter
and I, too, have been guided over holes I want to tell him    I have found a thing beneath    Jeremiah speaks quick    shows me a stick with what’s left on it    this has shaken me more than not
what is more than not I want to ask my mechanic    his hands are holding what has filtered how driven I can be  but I am not my car I say again    I have receipts to prove that every radiator has its limit    I have a boiling point that keeps me up at night    here is your bill my prophet says    but I am not my car    and this time I am speaking to you    I am driving away from what I love    like a window broken with grief

by Joseph Byrd
Pedestal Magazine