A Specific Stain

The driveway holds a silence

that wasn't here before.

Just the whisper of the wind

across concrete.

The quote arrived this morning,

a number like a wall.

Flat, unmoving,

it swallowed the engine whole.

Now just this dark spot,

a map of old oil, dry

where the car sat bleeding slow.

A history lesson, quietly

under the sun.

It used to leave for work,

it used to take me places.

Now it's just a space,

and the bill is all that works.

I trace the edge

with the toe of my shoe.

A stubborn edge.