Wheeling

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

wheeling endlessly.

All while trying the best that I

ever could to bring you

where you needed to go.

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