stick shift

the dead do not concern themselves
with teenagers. lately i have been trying to 
pick up survival skills for when there is
no more gasoline. we're on a bad highway 
by which i mean there is no coffee. if we follow it forever
we'll just end up back at the graveyard (not a metaphor).
as close as we can get to a hotel room. 
i do not reminisce much but i do miss
the ghosts who used to talk back to me.
these days i have to really stir the pot
to get a monster to look my way from
the cornfield. i loved to drive my dad's old jeep.
it wasn't stick shift but the story would 
be better if it was. i remember climbing a mountain.
was he with me or was i alone? i hope i was 
with him. i did way too many escape-room choices
when i was a girl. so much pasta & too many 
gas stations. there is no more gasoline so 
we don't have to worry about any of that. 
i put on walking directions to my hometown & it's 
only about 6 hours. that is not really that long.
i have been on longer flights. i start walking 
in the hopes that i can drive stick shift 
with time. squeeze the land & shrink all the distances
between be & a trauma pit. the graveyard opens
its mouth to swallow my aunt. they had 
an open casket funeral which i would have
approved of if they didn't do her makeup so much.
i miss her bathroom. i haunted it for just
one summer. everyone was blue. a fire
up the street turned them into butterflies.
i stole as much as i could from grocery stores. 
don't feel bad for me. i was hungry in a way
jello could to salvage. the jeep is scrap now.
i begged my dad to keep it before he got rid of it.
i said, "maybe we can plant flowers in its eyes."
he laughed. i was serious. i saw the jeep becoming
a yard monster. dirt & stray cats in the guts.
we could have laid it to rest. instead, he bought
an ugly truck with a rusted frame. 
now i drive stick only when no one is looking.
barefoot with a bag full of candy spearmint leaves.
i promise i'll still get there. even if it is just my bones
in a little amazon box.