garage
searching for our cars,
taking the stairwells
and ramps,
tip toeing through yellow puddles
of something odd,
the subject of love and death
comes up
as if the two are closely related.
we begin to sweat
and the air thins as we descend
further in the seventh circle
of hell. we take a break and eat
a power bar from her purse,
then press on.
finally she sees her car and uses
her key to make it beep.
thank you Jesus, she says,
not that she believes.
can i drive you to yours?
sure, i tell her, bending over to
catch my breath and loosen
the collar on my shirt.
all i remember is red B 12, i tell her.
do you have enough gas?
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