car parts sacked & slung around my neck

    (a joke) like skeleton keys

to be examined, slipped into

    a periodic table of combustion & horses

    dismantled diaries of drive-ins

& red lights & locked brakes

    the churning under felt-lined floors where he slipped

    his hand onto her bare knee

& once for a second a little higher

    the reaction determined by physics (not chemistry)

    lighting leaving through the toes

& the tiny surge shot through

    to tin & steel now clinking their oiled sounds

    the same as cans looped with string

to a bumper, dangling

HOLLY AMOS’s work has appeared in North American Review and Columbia Poetry Review. She recently completed her MFA at Columbia College Chicago.