death: it looms, above our car
i can hear her, knocking on the sunroof
a cloud, she; our car nothing but a coffin
when the two of you fight over us
i am reminded that i, too, am but dirt
i suppose that’s all we were.

when the car stops at a red light
when from my pit the sky starts to shrink
don’t you dare tell me you’re sorry
don’t you dare offer to help me out
don’t you dare ask, how i got here
shovel in one hand and mud on your fingers.