Tenor & vehicle

Joseph Green 

​The hump-backed Volvo she drove
wouldn’t hold the road in snow,
spun out if she barely touched the brakes.
Something in it hadn’t quite translated
when it came from its native Scandinavia.
And anyway, its tires were bald as lies
sliding over the factual surface of the world.
But where was I going?
                                 I thought I knew
good fortune when I saw it and I thought
I saw it in that car. How it kept stalling,
kept leaving her stuck in one parking lot
or another with me and my ignorance,
my willingness to try any fitting,
any wrench in the hope that nothing
I could do would ever make her run.