Wondering what to write
for this year’s passion poem,
thought of nothing
then the clutch began to slip
on the uphill ascent to the garage
knowing they’d have to remove the
traney to free the clutch
and not under warranty
I took the streetcar to work,
the car jouncing in the tunnel below
Twin Peaks, wondered
if the driver was on drugs, his
foot jammed against a dead-man’s pedal,
we emerged at West Portal, no
angels greeting us with rolled back stone,
at work I turned on my computer and saw yesterday’s work
gone, an INIT glitch nailed me, I think,
buried under my work I wait
for daylight, still, it could
be worse, don’t want
to think about it, though.