Mercury
Maybe it ruins the story to say at the start that no one was hurt
the day Scotty Forester swung open the door of the family car,
climbed up, put one hand on the wheel and, then, while pushing
and pulling on buttons and knobs, he found and released
the brake, and it started, the silver-blue Mercury, to roll
down Robin Street, best street in the neighborhood for sledding,
for coasting on a bike with arms waving above your head,
Scotty gaining speed on the long sweep of that block, heading
toward the intersection, then into it, then speeding
through, the car beginning to slow as the street leveled out,
although, toward the end, Scotty going fast enough
to jump the curb before stopping, three feet from a gas pump.
Maybe knowing the ending ruins this story, but sometimes
we need a break from dread. We need to know that the car
did not crash, the child did not die. We need to briefly forget
that we live in a world where a car is gaining speed, and
no one seems to be at the wheel. We need to be more
like the dog Scotty drives past, who barks, and runs in circles
as he barks some more, driven by some circuitry we have lost
for loving this dangerous life, living it.
Copyright © 2026 by Suzanne Cleary. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on April 10, 2026, by the Academy of American Poets.
“‘Mercury’ began when I relented. I let myself describe a vivid memory that had never seemed interesting enough for a poem. How had I forgotten that a poem’s subject is not as important as the poem’s exploration of that subject, as the discoveries made in the writing process? I discovered that the runaway car reads as a metaphor for our world, out of control and apparently headed for disaster, but I wanted more. I held out for the poem’s true subject: dread, and how we might live in spite of it.”
—Suzanne Cleary
Suzanne Cleary
