~SCOTT WELVAERT~

PUSHING A DODGE CHARGER INTO A GAS STATION

---

 
 
Their legs puked a mile ago,
and though his calves are fists,

he grinds each foot to the road,
heaves out his sore shoulder,

a buffalo butting ahead in line.
He does this to impress her.
 
She has not tired, clumped
to the ground like worn, brown

boots.  Her leather has not sagged
on the sides, cracked and dried.

He needs to show her that his
muscles still strangle his bones,

that somewhere inside, disease
has not eaten, has not filled its

belly with warm organs.  He
does it for the sweat, the work

they wipe from their brow, the cold
sodas they share in the shade.



 
  © by Scott Welvaert