The Car.(Poem)

 
THE CAR 
 
   Unwanted as an elderly employee who's slowed down, 
   the car's been bumped over the brook in the park, stripped 
   of identity on the gravel under the viaduct 
 
   and abandoned by an owner who couldn't care less 
   that he's torn willow leaves, calm, 
   in his itch to turn the key in a faster model. 
 
   Every day I see how irresistible helplessness is, 
   wince at the wrenched wheel lying 
   like a lost foot. Nearby, spattered with dust, 
 
   the lopsided body peers through a ragged gap 
   and from the ground a hail of glass protests sharply. 
   Soon the felt carpet is rucked and fuzzed 
 
   as if by a factory of mice. I wonder if a fisted hand 
   walloped the back of the plastic baby chair 
   until it broke, if it was satisfying to knife the upholstery, 
 
   chuck condoms from the passenger window. 
   One sultry day I find the car burnt to ...