Poem

the tire man pulled a long
nail from our tire
with a pulling tool
a rusted sort of bent up
nail from our tire weary
with slant bright flatness
its shorn head we
kept it weary in
my pocket though
I dropped it once all
our worn tires kept their
spirits up we drove up up up
to a forest to pitch
a tent we drove
tentstakes we kept
the weary nail to watch
an industrious
woodpecker poke
up bugs from pine
bark the tree beside
us to slice a mango
before sleeping to eat
from the pocketknife tip