It moves like three rocks
at the bottom of a book bag
and smells
like a dropped soda cup,
a torn open packet of barbeque sauce,
and a Yu Gi Oh card
fading on the dash.
It reminds me
of the kitten we found
mewing under the deck
as well as the kibble
used to lure him out.
Today, it floats me
to work, a carriage with
smudged windows displaying a vast
panorama
ahead. This slow chariot
handles the long
veer, a sharp cutover and—
oh god, what soft light fills
this space made of tin and fabric
reeking of youth’s
frankincense, sweat,
and myrrh.
