I’m doing well,
I hope you are.
Do you remember
In the car

That boiling day,
The herds of pronghorn
We flew past?
Your shirt was torn

And I could smell
The desert heat,
Feel the floor mat
With my feet.

I was afraid to speak,
Could only stare.
The wind revealed
Your shoulder. So there

You have it,
Nothing more.
You probably guessed
I sold that car.