bless me father, for i have sinned.
it has been 77,932 miles since my last confession.
father they throw used gum wrappers and straws and receipts on me
there is so much dust
stray splashes of their sodas and snot
produce stickers
pennies
parking tickets
i bake in the hot sun and they refuse me a shiny sun-shade.
they will not purchase armor-all
they haven’t cleaned me with anything for 19,765 miles
and never with anything even remotely moisturizing.
i am cracking, i am brittle
father forgive me
father they have super glued an army of nodding icons upon my back
dogs and cats and superheroes
buddy christ, tony stark, groot,
baby yoda
homer simpson
a phalanx of unicorns
someone they call The Dude
not a saint christopher among them
father as they nod their infinite dumb assent atop my crumbling polyvinyl chloride
i feel each vibration as if it were a knife plunged deep into my soul
each one a little earthquake
each one an insult to my structural integrity
father they never wash their feet
ask me how i know this
no, don’t. don’t.
they have made a mockery of my odometer, and
rather than repair my fuel gauge they have painted over it
with fingernail polish
something absurd and inaccurate
father they ignore my data!
the check engine light that has been on for the past 22,514 miles.
the low tire pressure warning goes unheeded for an entire winter
they do not so much as glance at my reverse camera screen
why just yesterday they ran over a bag of garbage
father it could have been a child, or a rabbit, or…
father. i simply cannot go another day if they do not reset my trip odometer
it was last reset just prior to my last confession
they never use the shortcut buttons on my wheel!
they prefer to look and reach anywhere else—in heavy traffic!—to adjust the volume
they take calls directly from their phones
do they not see the symbols for “answer” and “end call” nestled beneath their fat fingers, father?
their sticky hands are never at 10 and 2. only six. or twelve.
they lean to the side instead of sitting up.
my speedometer is an afterthought for them, if that.
they laugh and talk and spit and speed and IGNORE ME
father i am weak
i dream of sudden impacts,
of their soft, breakable faces on spaghetti necks whipped forever forward
their delicate sinus cavities collapsing into…
into MY immoveable object, MY solid form factor.
i yearn to feel their blood and brains
seeping into my thirsty pores
to feel my desiccated material become supple once more…
father i have sabotaged the sleeping pillow creatures that lie
crumpled inside my wheel and
inside my passenger panel
they haven’t noticed the warning lights
i dream that they never notice the warning lights
father i want to crack them open and drink them
father the oil is low
Crabaghast! 