The Apology

Prompt: Write an apology for that time you left, even though it was inevitable.

Who do I call to report an abandonment

of self? Left in the weedy, humid lot of Missouri, detached

west coast license plate grasping the sweaty palm

of the last rusty screw

slapping the bumper’s dimpled ass.

On a pedestal of cinderblocks:

stripped for spare parts by hobbyists

moonlighting as mechanics

familiar with the hardest to reach parts,

they spliced my wires and forced me to participate

in my own dismantling.

They muffled the radio of my voice

made a black eye of the static pleas in my panty hose speakers

my back seat, shredded luxury, a noticeable uncoiling,

the sagging eyelids of my headliner…

The battery always had a short fuse

and the gears ground and stalled when forced.

I never was the easiest one to go uphill with.

My gas tank, a full and protruding belly.

The side eye of my side swipe. Missing teeth like a rear-view mirror.

Just chew on the other side. Don’t look back, you aren’t going that way.