Hood comes up,
smoking engine like a bog at sunrise.
I dig the back of my head into the tire
and draw sighs into the air.
Cars rumble past.
Twenty minutes later,
a tow truck coasts around you
and cups the bumper like a sick child.
It grinds and pulls the car upright.
Both disappear beneath an overpass,
the car spilling its insides on the road.
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