As Is

Exhausting
idle
in my driveway
rust enough
to break hearts
across Texas
put her into overdrive
and watch
numbers tick
like dead soldiers
off miles
body bruised as fruit
backseat boneyard--
pizzas
not lovers.

She's got
glove box
maplines
across
the mainland
dollar in my pocket
piece of bubblegum
stuck
to the dash
keeps a door from jiggling
giggling like a drunk
girl singing
Pedal to the Metal, baby.

Speed up
slow down
sputter round
that
corner used
previously
if ever new
once
when a window
crank roller
smooth as piss
got a leak
that grew until
she blew up
in my face
like those windbags
in new cars
and I looked at her
and she said
soft yelling--
it's over.