circuit-rider in poetry

hands
hands on
hands on the wheel now
don’t let go

the gauge is unreliable
the desire is undeniable
I’m on an eighth of a tank
maybe less I don’t know
running just above empty
but hands on the wheel
don’t let go

I could sputter out any second
even though I never do
even though I must admit
I desperately want to
I want to crap out
I want the excuse
that I used up my fumes
I just want to
quit
but I never do
I don’t even know why
hands
hands at ten and two

rolling down the highway
despite my better judgements
my hopes or my dreams
there’s always a pull-off
there’s always a station
my instinct to keep going
overwhelm my imagination
another ten appears
in my pocket
and I pump enough in
to keep limping along
I always talk myself
out of just giving up
out of ceding to fears
hands up
eye forward
check the blindspots
adjust all the mirrors

hands upon hands
I can’t understand
I can’t stop
I can’t quit
and I hate myself for it
hands on the wheel
too tight to feel

I want to slip
I wanna do something stupid
but instinct
but reflex
but wipers
but windex
way down in the hole
way out of control
continue to roll
more gas in the tank
continue to try
I don’t know why
I don’t know why
hands on the goddamn wheel
headlights on high

on the way home tonight
ten dollars in gas
another day past
and a still growing feeling
I’m totally screwed
going nowhere new
hands on the wheel
hands ten and two
hands on
hands
hands
hands