Of Trans Ams and Chickens

by Jessica Tyner

My old ’83 Trans Am lapped up the salted highway,
clear stripper shoes in the backseat and fried chicken
pressed against my thigh. There was nothing special
about that day, nothing different about the bruises
creeping up my shins to rest uncomfortably on my knees?
backpackers breaking on a pointed rock, wiping sweat on their ascent?
nothing changed about the black Knightrider Hot Wheels hanging
from the rearview mirror or the worn wooly seat covers
molded perfectly to my ass.

I don’t know what made me think of you,
what wargame my heart waged on my brain
or why, miles down the too familiar interstate I pulled over with tears
pin wheeling down my face and tore like a beast
into the greasy breast wondering why you never kissed me anymore
and at the fact that chickens?
if they wanted to?
could overtake the world;
there are so many more of them than us.

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Jessica Tyner is a Pushcart Prize-nominated writer from Oregon and a member of the Cherokee Nation. Her publishing history includes over 30 pieces in 2012 alone. Recent projects include travel writing with Mucha Costa Rica, copy editing for the London-based Flaneur Arts Journal, and contributing to New York?s Thalo Magazine. She has recently published poetry in Slow Trains Literary Journal, Straylight Magazine, and Glint Literary Journal.
www.jessicatyner.com