Spinning, turning, braking through
every puddle, every pothole,
the tire endures and endures.
Often overlooked until the flashing
light on your dashboard-
Low tire pressure.
Five nails pierced through thick rubber.
Ten thousand miles yet this tire,
this lifeline was bare and useless, the mechanic said.
Six hundred and fifty dollars later,
I sit thinking about your goodbye.
I was support, you had said.
Your backbone, your framework.
Yet now, I am like my broken tire,
punctured by debris after
All while trying the best that I
ever could to bring you
where you needed to go.