Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
left-brained-poetPoems
1. Clutch sinks to the floor like a drunk mini skirt under a clever pickup line 1st gear gives way like an occasional lover Gas feathers in a subsonic prelude to a ****** Rolling 2. down our suburban street where sidewalks bend at the waist bowing to cracked driveways My single-minded objective upended by his scavenger’s mission Abrupt left “we must get that free tub” he says On the curb next to the faded plastic batmobile a rectangular residue of frayed cobwebs and forlorn leaves “son of a ***** dangles from his lips U-turn 3. tires crackle over loose asphalt steering wheel taught turning down the wrong street bewilderment derails my one track mind “lawnmower shop” he says I’ve known him long enough not to ask questions We have an understanding without understanding Sun splatters across my forehead an uncomfortable hot mess the cracked window is of little comfort as I await his return He holds the door for a dusty landscape artist pushing an unwieldy grass-cutting machine purring across the street late for the day’s rounds Wordlessly, he returns landing softly on his leather throne key sliding, kissing the lock cylinder willing forth internal combustion 4. Finally the bike shop
0
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 5:13 PM UTC
errands with my love
1. Clutch sinks to the floor like a drunk mini skirt under a clever pickup line 1st gear gives way like an occasional lover Gas feathers in a subsonic prelude to a ****** Rolling 2. down our suburban street where sidewalks bend at the waist bowing to cracked driveways My single-minded objective upended by his scavenger’s mission Abrupt left “we must get that free tub” he says On the curb next to the faded plastic batmobile a rectangular residue of frayed cobwebs and forlorn leaves “son of a ***** dangles from his lips U-turn 3. tires crackle over loose asphalt steering wheel taught turning down the wrong street bewilderment derails my one track mind “lawnmower shop” he says I’ve known him long enough not to ask questions We have an understanding without understanding Sun splatters across my forehead an uncomfortable hot mess the cracked window is of little comfort as I await his return He holds the door for a dusty landscape artist pushing an unwieldy grass-cutting machine purring across the street late for the day’s rounds Wordlessly, he returns landing softly on his leather throne key sliding, kissing the lock cylinder willing forth internal combustion 4. Finally the bike shop
#car#driving#errands#love
left-brained-poet
Written by
left-brained-poet
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 5:13 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem