Unedited Poem #9: Post-you-mous


The car before me stops

too quick and quiet for my soul’s

rusting windows. 
I have exactly one thought in 

half a moment’s lap: 

I am not fast enough. 
Foot puts the pedal into a 

death grip, like a gavel

to unyielding 

The seat embraces me,

engulfs my whole

and swallows me 

in such a way

as I never would’ve known


if it hadn’t been 

for you. 

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