Wheel

by Michael Martin

How I loved saying I was deeply skeptical of the adverb, very
but then I got run over by a truck.
Now I am Earl from Detroit, no more time behind the dais
and every day reminds me of Day.

I’m sorry, but I think you’ve reached the right number.
I’m here in the wheel’s heart
hosing water on vegetables
and bugs on vegetables

no matter if no decent thing sings on the vine
or the neighbors too loud, the sun too hot,
no matter no medals in a sock drawer
or eyes on a road

just rusty scent of life hectoring
for nourishment, loins tender for company
and every spoke of nerve in on it
is where I guess I’m going with this.

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