Inertia

It happened at the apex of the turn.

The belt went—

a sound like a wet towel slapped

hard against a tiled wall.

Then the wheel went stiff, a seized joint

refusing to bend.

I’m standing in the gravel now,

the smell of hot iron rising from the vents.

I touched the hood to check the heat

and left a smudge, an oily thumbprint

on the white paint,

the only mark I’ve made all day

that isn't going anywhere.