The motion and the minutes
Clunk.
My heart jolted with the car.
Gears ground. Tears, ugly, angry tears.
Fear.
Who knew how hard it would be to simply go.
To move.
An inch, a minute, a memory.
Clunk.
Laugh, start again.
Make a left, shift up.
The tears don’t come now,
But the motion and the minutes do,
In my manual the world doesn’t hover in impossible territory.
Not anymore.
My experience learing to drive a manual transmission car.
👁 5💬 0
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.
Log in to leave a comment.