No matter how
much gas you put in the tank,
it does not
mend a broken piston.
Two or three
or four or five days for a
replacement,
here on the northeast side
of We-Got-Lost,
Canada,
or a local
farmer might maybe make
alterations
to a tractor engine
sufficient
reshaping for a
Sturdy
American Sedan, crammed
full of
adults, teens and one
small child,
who wonders if the bats
flying
against the window
are vampires
and if they
break that
window,
will they
kill her?
The small
child, wrapped
smaller still,
huddles under the
bed, so she
can’t see those
fluttering
wings or hear the high
pitched
squeaks, just like she
hid in the
backseat footwell
to avoid her
brothers’ pinches.
Perhaps the
farmer can reshape her
small enough
to box her
and ship her
home.
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