Breakdown
My home is on my back and my back is broken so I lay aside the dusty trail and leak oil, I leak oil onto the bright asphalt. The child runs out the door and holds his face against the wall and says he won’t he won’t. I get on the bike and go for gas.
I come back and the police are here, the lights. I argue and they push my home, my back across the road. Out of harm’s way.
My home is in the grass, the tall grass and were my engine to misfire I would cause a great fire to spread through these hills. These hills that ask for fire.
My home is full of bent things, I did not bend them, they have bent. I have a dog that will bite when I’m not looking, a second that barks until birds answer from the trees. How will I tell my mother.
My hands are in the engine, my hands are caked in grease, the oil is in the grass, my mouth is filled with bees, the tubes will not connect, the engine will only roar, the engine will not turn, the tubes all seem right.
My eyes are shot with blood, the police are back again. The truck is almost coming. My home is almost gone. The sun is coming down, the fire is near the grass.
The child is by the wall, give me, give me. His mother is on the phone. The father is arriving soon. Their car is always near. My home is on my back.