Pick your head up and drive
A little slower.
Thank god this is over
As dreams move your mouth
Like an alternator belt.
Too cold to get out for the man
In the road, feet planted
With roots like a
Hollowed out baobab tree.
Pretend to listen, pretend to care
And flash your brights
So he can read his cue card
And whirl his arms in the air.
You said you hear him with
Your one good ear.
Hard earth and soft hands,
Coast to coast on the radio.
I asked him for a jump
From his gas powered lamp
But you were already pushing
And cranking on the wheel
As we barely miss the ditch.
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