bright on my mirrored bumpers
like two skies My grill sparkles
on the miles and miles of interstate
metal on metal like the heart
I wear outside my chest
an empty locket cold
between my breasts
I watch the hypnotic
dashed white lines stream
past my chrome wheels
Turn signal on
boundaries made to cross
without thought
I rely on experience
saved up in between the muscles
in my shoulder or my brain or
well I don't know
as five of my eighteen wheels
shred a possum into an untellable paste
like the memories of my last husband
each white line an eraser
disappearing in my sideview mirrors
his angry hands
his slurred speech
when he was passed out
I left a note on his pillow
and prayed to myself
the bus would show up
before he came to
I imagined his sad dishrag face
at last free to show something
of the emotion he had for me
he needed me
like my dad
I ran from him too
I keep driving
my wounded eyes
watching the lines through my windows
a transparent reflection of my face
I swore I'd never be under his thumb again
and now I'm a million miles away
and now I'm a million miles away.
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