on bald tires

on bald tires,
and bad
brakes, one
wiper flopping
like a lazy
eye, red from
weeping.
a tail light
out, one
headlight
pointing not
to the road
but to a tree
in the woods
where a lone
deer waits
for the belching
of exhaust to
clear so that
he can pass,
in her rumble
seat,
she rolls and
rolls.
and it's not
the journey she
savors,
but the destination,
safe,
and home at last.