oil light, on.

85,967 miles and i need an oil change.

i remembered you the way i remembered freezing
when another car rounded the corner,
my hands still locked around the back of your neck

if you’re patient you’ll become familiar with
the backseats of cars. sometimes we didn’t even wait
that long. gearshift digging into my calf.

pick an empty street.

they can actually give you a ticket for that.
(he didn’t even need a ticket to get in.)

the green audi, the red solara.
the silver honda, the black honda.

i need an oil change.

when my mother was in college a girl she knew
turned the car on in the garage and ran a pipe
into the interior.
she didn’t drive anymore after that.

and the oil light’s still on.

the guy at the valvoline station laughs when
he sees my car pull up. he leers at me as he checks
off all the things i need to get serviced.
they don’t teach girls to negotiate things like that.

so i keep pushing the car the way i push myself–
relentless, without mercy,

always in such a rush to get somewhere.

i need the light to change.
i need my battery changed.
i need a goddamn oil change.
i need
i need
i need a change.


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