Driving a battered sky-blue
mid-sixties pick-up
a half-ton
with a full ton
in back: old tile
marble & granite scraps
gnarled chicken wire
rotten wood
piled in tortured plastic cans with missing handles
wedged in black contractor bags
splitting at the seams with soggy drywall
stacked precariously with the tailgate down
to help hide the plates
and a two-year lapse
in up-to-date tabs
with no papers in the glove box
to the contrary
I avoid main arterials
sudden stops
sudden accelerations
sudden anything
Nobody tailgates
no matter how slow i go
they keep their distance
I can barely see their
cautionary regard
bourgeois outrage
or that gesture they are making
—Larry Crist