the pothole broke the axle, then it broke her heart
but that was after the repair guy said, it’s an easy fix
he talked about his family while he worked
i’m their go-to-guy
i put things back together
she knew the kind, her dad was a fixer, too
all done, the repair guy said,
now come at me jagged or come at me smooth
she observed the grease on his hands and said, jagged,
so he liberated her head
which, given the circular nature of things,
landed in the pothole

lighter, she returned to that grainy depression
in the road
what had distracted her before, and pulled her
eyes away?
crimson leaves fluttering to earth?
yellow clouds above the canyon?
a jay so blue his exact color wasn’t yet named?

beauty, always beauty—it got her every time

that man and his dispatching hands,
even they were beautiful

Photo by Marc-Olivier Jodoin on Unsplash