soft crunch of fan motor
acid drag of vehicles outside—
mixed with crickets & wind—
news on tv: blood in the tide

your car can’t breathe & is leaking oil,
the mechanic said.
with nowhere to go
I’m as good as dead

they wash the pelicans
they poison with oil
my car parked on a lawn
of petroleum soil

the sound of people moving
people I don’t know
how could I be left
here with nowhere to go