Thursday, May 19, 2016




When your daughter gets a flat tire
at 10:30 on a Monday night
you get to grab a flashlight
and go out and press
your face into the pavement
into little pieces of gravel
and smell that cold pavement smell.

You thought you'd teach her to change
a flat but you never did
you send her home
with her mother in the other car
without the flat.

You fumble in the dark
with the untested jack
cranking your Japanese SUV into
the air by a few inches
pull the flat off the lugs
roll it onto the ground
and struggle
to align the good one
and twist the nuts on as tight
as possible with your hands
"Always use your hands before
you use a tool," your eighth grade Shop teacher
once said.

Two days later
you're still cleaning road grit
from the grooves of your fingers
which remind you
of the treads of tires.

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