You Preferred the Yellow Curb

by JEM GOLSON

If there were hours, I would have driven far
enough to see your sister one last time;
but you said no that day, and now the car
has dropped its belts and will not make the climb.
If this were ours, I would have blinked disgust,
pulled off, stuck out my thumb, and caught a lift;
but you have made it clear that this is just
my trip. My interpretation, my gift,
my sole responsibility, my soul,
my own imagined figment fragmenting.
So I will drive around the block again
and again till I find an able man,
till my brakes get fixed and halt lamenting,
till my miled tires rest, till tears cease to roll.