All things broken ...

I went on a      man/woman      date

     Today.      I think that      it went well.

          Horribly wonderful.             Wonderful.

               Horrible –      which way?      Time will tell:

     The shifter fell off of

             my transmission.

So I pushed the rear, she

       steered it in position and

          put it into park. Then we

     shook hands, laughing –

               Busied every silence

     To a noise. We were cracking

               From the wall that comes,

                  that always comes, between

                                  enjoying someone and

                                                       knowing someone.

                         “Do you have pets?” I asked

                    “Just a rescued anaconda

               whose nose was eaten

by a rat; he sounds underwater

when he breathes.” When we

     Hugged, I couldn't help but

        Think about all the fractured pieces

     I could never do without:

The policeman who didn't hassle me

     for parking in a flipped direction,

          My date who knew “That's your shifter,”

                      A car who let us cross the  intersection,

          The tow truck driver, that Honda mechanic,

A friend who drove me home,

                       The law that states – if this girl ends up

                                    Great – that's a love we can seal and own.

                                   And I know that's not a law upheld

                         for every couple yet: some still

           Have to jerry-rig their locks

like the scar in a wheezing pet's

     nose, like the half-fastened

               screw on a shifting lever,

                              Like the laugh-covered nerves

                         And smile-draped doubts of (“Yeah. We may never …”).

                     Some might have seen this car collapse,

      Seen a girl park backwards with it,

And thought “Poor things, so sad for them,”

  Or, “They deserve a ticket!”

                  We are all vines up a  warped cage:    green hearts   crawling

          Through pale frames      (stress-veined, rigid,      slow-grown).

     And we'll never catch      and patch     all our gaps –

Yet we'll never   lie broken      alone.