On my way home from an errand–walking to the local pharmacy—-I observed, or rather heard, a car riding on a flat tire. Flubba flubba flubba. The driver pulled to the curb. The tire hung in shreds off the rim. I retraced my steps a short distance to check out the situation, knowing that there was a tire place half a block away, but out of sight from where the car was clearly stranded. The passenger got out of the car and inspected the tire with that bemused look all of us have when considering a hopeless situation. I came close enough, told him about the tire place, and watched him walk in that direction. That was the entire extent of my involvement.

But I wonder…what will happen to him next? He was a young black man, wearing a kind of headscarf I don’t even know the name of. From the looks of the car he was riding in, not to mention its emergency, he wasn’t well-off. I hope he found at least temporary help at the tire place. But after that, what?

Perhaps he’s late to work because of the flat tire. Perhaps his boss is unforgiving and fires him on the spot. Losing that paycheck even for a day means he can’t pay for a new tire, groceries, his mom’s medication, the water bill, the rent. Perhaps he should have thought of all that before he dropped out of high school a couple of years ago. But getting an education isn’t the first problem he has today, or the first solution. He’s already lower than the bottom rung. What is “someone” going to do for my brother today?

Did a flat tire ever ruin your life?

 

EVICTION
 
I’m just the guy they send to change the locks.
But what I seen would make your stomach turn.
Dead kittens. Rotten garbage. Baby blocks.
Rooms all charred up with stuff they tried to burn.
One time I even seen a waterfall
come down the stairs, the bathtub falling through
the ceiling. You could say I seen it all.
I wonder what this country’s coming to
when people working just as hard as me
get caught up in some paper-shuffle trick
and end up on the street. I get to be
the one that catches shit. It makes me sick.
I got my job to do. The neighbors stare
like I’m the bad guy, like I didn’t care.
  
Barbara Loots

Published in Light Quarterly Spring 2012
Published in Road Trip