Nissa Holtkamp

I

Grey shoulder of an old farm road.
Ten minutes behind they flew in their
rust-eaten truck with in their tongues
In their laps, licking their zippers. The
Tire blew. I pulled over. My clumsy
Fingers began fumbling with the jack,
Negotiating the terms of salvation.
They stopped from behind and all I
Saw was the weather worn thumb, the
Black bruise of a nail. In two quick
Moments, I died with laughter in my
Throat, fingerprints on my neck and a
Warm blood pillow.

II

Man, my lips are dry. Buddy, you
Know you got me, you got the watery
Eye, down, down, this old farm road,
Neglected and removed. Buddy, you
See that there? You see her on the grey
Shoulder, her stale bargaining? She’s
Been dry too long. She needs change.
It won’t take too long. We’ll only be
Ten minutes late getting home. Pull
Over citizen. Yeah, you laugh, imp-
Bitch. We’ve been dry for far too long.
We’ve been waiting for our savior,
Our seraph, our satiety.

first published in Agnieska's Dowry