Total Loss

The engine gave its final, rhythmic shudder

just as I passed the closed-up Mobil sign.

I steered it toward the gravel, a heavy rudder

cutting through the dark, crossing the line

between a working thing and a pile of scrap.

I sat there for an hour, maybe more,

listening to the cooling metal snap

and watching shadows crawl across the floor

of the passenger side. I didn't call for help.

I just waited for the silence to settle in,

watching the steam rise like a ghost of kelp

from the hood. It felt like some kind of sin,

or maybe just a debt I finally paid.

Beneath the tire, a puddle started to pool,

smelling of burnt sugar and the choice I made

to keep driving a wreck like a stubborn fool.