“Car Trouble” by Marilyn McCormick

Marilyn McCormick


He said my differential was gritty and grimy and
if I didn’t have it checked the whole thing could
fall apart or stop working. I didn’t know I had
one—a differential. Or where it was, or what it
looked like. I’m good at cleaning the things I can
see and the things I know about. It’s rained for two
days and I’ve waited for the clouds to leave, the
ones that are sitting on top of the hills, but today,
I said to hell with it and walked in the rain. The desert
doesn’t soak up the rain or hang onto it long. It
rushes over the hard pack, heading downhill to
set up flash floods on Route 140. I don’t seem to
care much about things these days. I feel disarmed,
hands hanging empty at my side, a little, you know,

from Rattle #1, 1995

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