Public Republic

Katerina Stoykova-Klemer

The Spare Tire
is constantly afraid
that one day
it will be his turn
to start carrying the weight
of the car
in which
he has been riding.

Once
a while back
he whispered his fears
to the windshield wipers
but in silent judgment
they just shook their heads.

And so
he cowers
under the cover
lays low in the dark
and on rainy days
he keeps
particularly
quiet.

Often
the Spare Tire
counts his blessings:
One Two Three Four
One Two Three Four.

Admits that
actually
if it were not
for the constant fear
being a spare
is not at all a bad job.

True
a little unexciting
but being a regular tire
in daily use
seems really
terrifying.

Already
deep furrows of worry
zigzag and wrap
his forehead
round
and round.

Desperate
he reads all library books
he finds
forgotten in the trunk
listens to any backseat gossip
of erudite passengers
and radio talks
with famed psychiatrists
to try to grasp
where his reluctance
comes from.

Believe me
he is deeply ashamed
and feels unworthy
compared to the wheels
propelling progress
pulling heavy loads
rolling their radial faces
over highways
and dirt
roads.

How
he envies
the way they carry
themselves
how
he wishes
he were like they –
so confident
and groovy.