field

four to the floorboard rusted rumple
engine tumbles over from a dead stop
transmission hates weather

what the old farmers call the sky
in its untranquil gale driven clouds,
"weather"

but you stole my fuzzy dice (purple)
and that bandanna I wore one July day
when you asked me for lemonade from the window
of your cadillac

she'll be surprised when I donut
your lawn fertilized and green become furrows
and toss out shucks

smoke-colored weather, exhaust
fuming regret and her swollen belly
and your fender-bender