THE CHARIOT

Somewhere in the heartland

- miles of crop, in every direction,

corn picked clean by the crows -

on a blue highway

on the side of the road

in a ditch

after a downpour

at dusk

in the mud

on his back

is a man

under the axle

of his jacked-up jalopy.

He is looking to see

if there is anything more

than the flat that needs fixin’.

His woman is standing by

ready with a wrench.

The spare - tread worn bare

and tattooed with patches - leans

against the rusted, dented bumper.

This is the tire

that will get them down the road.

This is the chariot

that will take them home.

This is what love looks like

when you're driving it for real.