When Our Cars were Horses
We couldn’t see the twist of wires
hidden under sturdy flesh, and
the gears were faster, and whoa!
Our cars had ears and nostrils then
that filled with dust and forced our cars
to stop mid-street, the drivers calling out
their names. Oh yes, our cars had names.
Of course, our cars got hungry,
a bag of oats their gasoline. At night,
our cars stood in their parking spots.
A snuffle, a shake of the mane. Sometimes
our cars would dream of open fields,
feel the speed that was clenched in their
obedient legs, the spring that lived in
their clip-clop feet, the hanging air
just waiting to split as our cars shot through
leaving nothing behind but a shiver.