My First Ride

was a torino
with a hole in the floorboard
of the passenger seat

i picked you up that night
to see a real play
tartuffe by moliere

i could only just afford tickets
and the courage to ask
not a good car too

emptiness is a stone in a field
a metal ice cube tray
a sticking to the skin

wanting to be warmer or colder
or bigger or smaller or
greater than it thinks

knowing all along
nothing is worse than alone
as the window fogged and

foolishly i pushed
against everything soft
you said i’ve lost a heel

remembering the floorboard
we rolled out
in the moon dark and swore

our snow angels
would die free
kicking arms and waving legs

in unison and in the frostbite
and the broken curfew
forgave the other shoe

Paul Koniecki lives and writes in Dallas, Texas. He was once chosen for the John Ashbery Home School Residency. He is the Associate Editor of Thimble Literary Journal. His books of poetry are available from Kleft Jaw Press, NightBallet Press, Dark Particle Press, and Spartan Press.