pot holes

my car is a divining
rod for pot holes.
each tire a magnet
for a dark deep ditch
that lies like an open
wound on every road.
the clunk, the bang,
the rattle of car
bones and the strange
clink of something left
behind. the curse.
i am amazed at the words
that come out of my
filthy mouth. it's
almost like a song,
this road trip,
a calypso beat of drums,
but no one is dancing,
no one is happy. no one
but jimmy, the mechanic
at the garage.