Everything’s exhausted here,
the birch leaves drip
in limp Autumn’s last
inning of heat
and your car, that old
weary heap of scrap
won’t start.
The store up the hill
and your list on the sill
will have to wait.
The Datsun's as
brokedown
stubborn as you
at your best
or worst,
one tank of leaded
gas won't get us
any thrills
(I’ve had my fill)
and it’s a fact that
I really can’t
discern the difference
between these states.
Really.
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