Exhaust-Amy Hinrichs
Exhaust
By Amy Hinrichs
We used to bend our knees against the car,
Short breaths,
Long anxieties.
I curl up inside the barrel, and spin.
I feel more like a child,
With knuckles coated in gasoline.
Your kind of gravel starts at the toe,
and it peels itself,
like seeds,
into the exhaust of my body.
Into the skulls of our summer.
Copyright C. 2008 Amy Hinrichs