POEM SHOUTED OVER THE SOUND OF A 1968 MUSTANG ENGINE

THAT’S CURRENTLY ON BLOCKS IN SOME GUY’S GARAGE,
A HOSE IN A BUCKET OF GASOLINE KEEPING
THE WHOLE THING GOING & JACK ROUSH
WOULD BE SO PROUD OF THIS NOISE—MY FATHER
TELLS ME WHEN HE DIES I GET THE CAR
THOUGH FOR NOW THE CAR DOESN’T RUN,
HENCE THE ENGINE BEING IN THIS PLACE INSTEAD
OF UNDER THE HOOD, WHICH RIGHT NOW
IS AN EMPTY SHELL, AND I DON’T THINK
I COULD FIX THAT IF I HAD TO BECAUSE I’M NOT
GOOD AT THAT, AT FIXING ANYTHING,
I’D PROBABLY LET IT DECAY IN THE DRIVEWAY
ONCE IT’S MINE—AND THE WHOLE TIME
WE’RE STANDING HERE WE DON’T KNOW
THE BEGINNING OF A CHILD TAKES SHAPE
AND I KNOW THAT A FETUS CAN’T HEAR
BUT I LIKE TO IMAGINE THAT ENGINE’S IN HIS DNA,
THAT IT WAS SO LOUD IT IMPARTED ITSELF
ON HIM LIKE A VERY LOUD GHOST.

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Justin Carter is the author of Brazos (Belle Point Press, 2024). Originally from the Texas Gulf Coast, he currently lives in Iowa and works as a sports writer.

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