Engine Noise

When the starry timing belt
of this long and lanky universe
goes out of sync
with the little flutter of my psyche,
rubber edges lightly frayed
from gentle mileage and fall windstorms
I crawl into a far corner
behind the air filter, where leaves gather
and rustle discontentedly
where I commit to an interlude
of small foolishness
and express myself twenty-three times
in conversations nobody will ever hear
my petulance absorbed into engine noise
the whir of small fan blades,
the cycle of pistons and sparks
and where we’ll be
when I finally push my small face
out from under the hood
will surprise no one so much as me.