With each hand…

by on October 28, 2016 :: 1 comment

With each hand the same turn
you learned to take apart
put together, tighten

and though the wrench holds on
the tire’s slowly going flat
the only way you know how

– you let go, circle
spring-like, for keeps
around the pin-hole leak

already planes falling into place
as a training song from the 40s
louder and louder, struggling for air

– at last the tire goes down
half under the ground
where you need both wrists

the way flowers wilt and each breath
takes in more smoke, still black
on course, end over end, almost there.

– Simon Perchik

editors note:

Meek machinations to maintain mobility, leaking languor. – mh clay

Comments 1

  1. diannelblueberry@hotmail.com'

    Wow, your metaphors are very strong indeed. I really enjoyed reading your poem.

    You may want to consider something that I noticed. The line, “already planes falling into place”, was probably supposed to say ‘plans’ and not ‘planes’, but I could be wrong. I have been wrong before.

    Thanks for sharing.

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