My tire has an Aneurysm
Along the route to the factory outlet mall on the maliciously
flat interstate midway between Tucson and Phoenix, Arizona
the scalding red gritty sand layers my windshield like slivers of
Royal Danish crystal fallen on a parquet floor
With eight foot green, pointy headed, bilimbed cacti
a gauntlet of witnessing guards
To the horizon stippled by the minor juts of the mountains partly
obscuring the sun like the towers along a castle wall in whose courtyard
lives the ugly Beauty of the Sonoran desert
Suddenly
my first completely paid for car begins to shake like a silent baby
in pain, exhausted from crying
I pull over to the side of the road
There is a four inch rubber bubble sticking out of the side of my
factory-issue right front tire
A grey defect of stretched black disrupting the sooty symmetry of
my wheel perhaps too tired of spinning on the unforgiving Arizona asphalt
I gingerly push it in with my finger, but it pops right back out
If I were to poke my nails into the membrane pouch it would blow
flatulent radial air into my face
Maybe this is what my doctor meant when he
said I have an aneurysm in my aorta
A defect in my blood filled internal rubber tire
Maybe it would burst
Right now
I would never make it to the discount mall
With regular maintenance, I always thought my car would drive
forever
But it can also end up on the side of a hot dusty road with no other
car for miles
The doctor says he can patch my tire, with a white-walled graft like
new
I kick my tire like an old king helpless in a shrinking realm
The right front axle falls on my foot
Now I am getting two operations
Ajay Wasan
Class of 1993
Volume X (1994)
