David Donna

Amber

The day you notice you've forgotten
when the check engine light first came on,
you don't remark on it—

it's not the moment,
maybe hasn't been for a while.
Anyway, the machine drives

like normal, best you can tell—
the half-empty water bottle splashing
slivers of sunlight in your lap,
the sheepish flock of vacant sandwich bags, still

get where they're going, all in one piece.
And every time you climb out,
for however long, the indicator's good
as gone.

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David Donna's poems have appeared in Radar Poetry, Ibbetson Street and elsewhere (listed at poetry.daviddonna.com). They live in eastern Massachusetts, where they write code and poetry by turns.