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Sonnet: On a Recurring Argument Going Nowhere
by Julie Sheehan
The red-eyed gas gauge glares: attend! attend!
but you insist we’re nowhere near empty.
We taxi past Texacos, bypass BPs,
our engine inventing fuel, me at wit’s end,
you fuming at my lack of confidence.
We pause at last, a Shell somewhere in Jersey
not to fill up, but just to buy some candy.
By now I’ve hit the interstate of silence,
the pissed-off lane, the sullen bend, the unsound
skids and brakes. I ponder where to go
the next chance I can take sabbatical.
The car konks out. Stillness emphatical.
I’ve never much complained of breaking down
until today. Guess what: I told you so.