Rusty Muffler

My roommate was nearly killed
by a rusty muffler. My rusty muffler.
It tumbled, and ricocheted off wet
pavement right at her

She laughed. Brought the broken
pieces by hand, said I'd fix it someday

Radio's never worked, orange lights
illuminate buttons that have no use,
they're pretty in the night reflections

Broken knobs flick them on and off
on and off on and off on and off

Before my muffler's attempted murder
a chorus of tired pistons, rubber belts,
fluid cylinders, mechanical leavers and stuttering
window wipers occupied the cabin hall

Now there's only a rumbling to be heard
beneath my feet, loudest in every gear
rattling organs under thin layers of fat

It chokes the need for talk

We are taken by the roar from place
to place, I flick the orange button lights
on and off on and off on and off

there's need to yell at times
"stop it..."

I follow the white lines with my
eyes until home, the howling dies,
our voices are left to fill the void

We listen to each others' footsteps
through the rain and gravel, a ruffle
of nylon jackets, groaning door hinges

Dislodged shoes with a soft thump,
light switches, incandescent hum,
toilet flush, electric tooth brush

Rustle of blankets and a fumbling
with chapter books

At least with the roar
there is an excuse