The oft-oppressive miracles
of the combustion engine beckon
from whiny highways of a degradation
we must call fair
An asymmetrical face
appears in the exhaust drift
between the taillight and license plate
of an idling sedan
What is meant to show
is pre-failed presidents and glittering
tragedies-waiting-to-happen
The residue accumulates
The aperture in danger of occlusion
The substance mysterious
Every night walking home
I hear someone having the worst night of their life
By the car dealerships, the sky opens up
Supposed solutions flicker and flare
from Gideon’s Bible to giddy-on out of town
Try to look closer
But the subterfuge that goes into seeing a face
won’t necessarily relent
Colin Dodds is a writer with several novels and books of poetry to his name. He lives in New York City, with his wife and daughter. You can find more of his work at thecolindodds.com.
