My Red Wheelbarrow

There is a rattle

deep in the belly of our not-so-old car

plastered with its political declarations and subtle confrontations.

It’s not a constant rattle, signaling its discontent only upon the first turn of the key, undetectable to mechanics and other passengers.

It’s been there for so long, I wonder if it’s possible that it was there all along.

But wouldn’t we have noticed it?

Wouldn’t we have heard it when the car was shiny & new & full of promises?

And now that it is a part of the whole,

there are many days when the rattle is missed altogether.

But, there are days, when the rattle roars, forcing me to recoil for just a moment.

On those mornings

when my silence is assaulted by the reminder

that all is so clearly not right with the one thing I am depending upon


I wait for the crescendo…

and then the fall back to a quiet pretense that all is okay



5 thoughts on “My Red Wheelbarrow

  1. Your poem is quiet, which is incongruous w/ the rattle and the annoyance of it. Funny what we notice and don’t notice depending on the moment. Excellent poem.

    Liked by 1 person

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