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I understood the word
< wanton >
to mean a deep and desperate want—
to be waifish and lacking

Instead it means 
or a
promiscuous woman

         Why are there so many English words for a wayward female

On I-94 at 80 mph in the left lane
behind a cagey fishtail of trailer with open sides
loaded with demo debris and hauled by a late 90’s Dodge pickup
riding low with loose scrap

More than ever
semis dominate this route—
we all just need
to get there

Spray of something off the back
hits windshield—was that glass
that chorus of tinkly plinks on impact—
inertia bewitching the delicate

signal right: get over
only to follow rogue trailer again minutes later
for another round of broken window—
shard shower on pavement between us

signal right again:
pass with purpose
and a hard left stare—
Who are these people

         We should have taken a picture of the license plate he says

Hungry hollow gaze
safety is expensive
< wanton >
The disparity is inconvenient

Corporate-bonus-funded Subaru—
hood paint chipped down to the chrome
in X-ACTO®-ed triangles 
nick of windshield to match

We get home
to survey the
minimal damage

         It’s just a car he says

And so it is

Photo by dhruvik ramani on Unsplash

Anne Marie Holwerda Warner

Anne Marie Holwerda Warner is a divinity student at Western Theological Seminary and a postulant for priesthood in the Episcopal Diocese of Western Michigan. Her poems have appeared in fifteen publications including Earth & AltarThe HourImpossible Task, and Last Stanza Poetry Journal.