Hears to the Mute

our mangled bumpers
twisted grills and love of speed-
it may be two fast.
the breaks did not work
-no turn signals, switching lanes;
burning rubber.
horns blur to sirens;
your steel cage womb becomes tomb;
we were almost (t)here.
i’m almost neutral,
but way two automatic
-as i popped her clutch;
rubber split around my gasp
-and transmission falls.