Meditation in Loudoun County


The Pontiac
Is a natural object. Ice melting on its hood
Trickles along a warp to the front end,
Drips from chromed fenders to the gravel
Making ticking sounds. Expanding metal,

Late spring.
Bloomed honeysuckle wavers in the chainlink,
Wilting. Still the car sits still: its metal,
Bled up through dulled enamel, rusts
In the hot sun of the front yard,

Throttled
By dried weeds. Punctures open into crusts.
Dead, flat enamels pucker into blisters.
Chromes flake and sprinkle gravel. A pale dust
Coats the hubcaps.

If truth
Is up on cinderblocks in the noon sun,
The color leaches from its dented door.
All day sun burns into the battered hood.
The earth is conservative. The car sits still.