I kneel to check my car tire’s pressure,
but the tire gauge is old,
and no longer works.
What’s with that?!
Tools are supposed to work forever,
and I have a tool that doesn’t work!
Bah!
The tires frown in deflated anticipation
so I decide to squirt air in all of them
until I can buy a new tire gauge
and check them properly.
As I try to stand my legs rebel
and quiver like a pond rippling
after a stone thrown in its gut.
“Great. Here I am a capable woman
checking my own tire pressure
with a tire gauge that doesn’t work
and I can’t stand up! Shit!”
I’ll die out here. A petrified woman statue
kneeling on the pavement parking lot.
An obstacle bigger than a speed bump
for other drivers to swear at.
I am a turtle upside down on its shell.
My legs kick the air. I struggle to right myself.
I want to lie down and let the summer sun
suck the life out of me –
a dried worm rusting on the sidewalk.
I should have gone to the tire store.
I could have kept my old tire gauge.
I could have kept my young legs.
