Fuel

(to Russell Edson)

Pouring the crystalline
water,
filling the plant pot
to feed the growing leaves of green.

What do you think of my new car father?

Pouring the pink fruit shake
it feeds his stomach,
and the moving fingers of skin.

That is your car? Where will you repair the wheels?

Pouring the amber gasoline
in the tank of the car
the spinning tires move.

At the gardening store of course. I can grow new ones if I have to. I am going to live in the woods with my car. We are moving out. But I am finished with your capitalist oil sucking society. It pollutes the air and my friends. So I am leaving.

And out he goes, the green leaf fronds of his car bobbing to the road. The doors of fern with their newly sprouting spores, and the hemp chassis flexing and grating against itself. Teenaged rebellion, I have seen you coming. I once did almost the same thing with a pet dog I had.

Mother, Son just left with a car that he has been growing in the garage for the past year. I told you to get rid of those plants. They cannot be trusted, these plants with their roots.

And my son disappears, but I know he will be kept safe. After all, those roots can only grow down into soil. I am not worried.