in the trunk

you find yourself in the trunk
of a car. gagged and tied, but
alive. you can hear a man
singing to the radio
in the front seat. billy joel,
this is my life. it's muffled
though from the trunk where
it smells like gas and oil,
rubber. a cold tire is pressed
against you. a wrench, a loose flare,
an empty beer can or two roll
about. the red roses you bought
to ask her to forgive you
are scattered everywhere.
your life has come to this.
you had no idea what kind
of man her father was.
but now you know.