asleep in the wreck
they’ve hauled my wrecked
red chevy north of town
to ted’s garage where
it’s parked on an oil
slick in the gravel out
back ted sez it’s okay
for me to go there
afternoons & sleep he
doesn’t charge a cent
for what he calls my
room he knows it’s a
piece of junk but the
doors still work the
windshield’s intact
there isn’t a crack in
the glass anywhere what
sleep i get behind
that snapped wheel is
dark w/impact i wake
tensed to take the
steering column thru
the lungs it’s what i
like to think death
is quick details nothing
blurred ted brings coffee
late afternoons we drink
it in the shadows off
the freights
Poem taken from Raw Bone No. 2 edited by Tom House, February 1984