Delivery

The white Ford idles at the curb,

a vibration that shakes the glass.

The exhaust is a heavy, gray curtain

watching the morning pass.

I’m awake before the sun is up

because the diesel won't let me rest.

It rattles the spoons in the drawer

and the hollow space in my chest.

The rusted bumper is caked in salt

and the driver is just a shadow inside.

He’s waiting for a light to change

with nowhere left to hide.