Challenging Poetry

two and a half miles from home

our car coughed today,
going into ever more violent
paroxysms and whines
and unusual engine noises,
unaccompanied by any burnt
smells or wild billows of black
and white smoke pouring out of
the nether spaces, which would
indicate the kind of imminent
explosion that necessitate
immediate shut down.

no, our car coughed
gently, then insistently,
then violently, then refused to
catch, the RPM indicator waving
in a last gasp of possibility
before it died, and we pulled over
and turned the key
a dozen times before concluding
that we needed a tow and a
lift, and possibly a Ouija board
to figure out how much
it will take to shock it back to life.

April 18—Question something