Tensile

The leather split across the seam.

The strap gave out without a scream

and left me in the street.

I reached into the dark of the trunk

past all the oil and iron junk

to make the ends both meet.

The rope is rough, a dirty brown

with flecks of green that weigh it down

and bite into my skin.

The hemp is dry against my throat.

It pulls the collar of my coat

until the weave is thin.