fifty-two in poetry

fifty two miles to empty
fifty two miles an hour
fifty nine minutes to go
or so until it loses power

and I can’t help but kind of want it
and I can’t help to hope it just ends
and I can’t help but want to know
the ending of this show
and not have to pretend

but I stop for gas around thirty
I fill up the damn tank up again
I crank up the tunes
I’m running on fumes
but I’m seeing what’s beyond
if I don’t break but bend
pop the clutch and
then hit send