Poetry by Tracy Marks



The Skid
copyright 1978 by Tracy Marks




maneuvering
with the man in my life
is like driving in a snowstorm
without snow tires
sliding gliding skating skidding
down the highway
at 15 mph the snow
pouring from the sky
like jam an inch an hour
and no one to close the
damn
jar.

snow-tired cardragons speed
past me at 25 kicking up
their tails of exhaust-
ing labors the studs
and scattering the sludge across my windshield.
I strain to read blurred signs ahead -

sudden
fear as the car veers


to the left, slides
out from under me -

tiltawhirl days at the carnival
      as the teacup starts/
              and stops/  and starts/

saucer-like snowbound
world.


oh and the thrill of this
slight motion,
this skidding
emotion, this
momentary
surrender
before regaining
consciousness.





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