Big Red Machine

The pickup is human
after all these years.

Flakes of rust
mix with tears
as I fight with the clutch
and force her in to gear.

Sweat pours from my body
as quickly as she guzzles gas,
rolling down the road
at eight miles a gallon -
a blazing red pickup
chugging through the heat
which rises in waves
fluxing like a mirage
off the steaming blacktop.


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