Scrap Metal
Driven too long with out coolant
With out lubricant, my wife
Blew the head gasket on the
old Buick century.
Now lifeless on the flatbed. Waiting
For its final ride down the ramp
Into some unknown scrap heap. I'm
too young to buy a beer, you
sat on my wife's side of
That old car. Burned out by too many years,
I was parked in the driver's seat.
Then you slipped
Your body across the bench seat
Into the empty space where a shifter would be
On a newer model.
You rested your head in the pit
Of my arm. You told me
you'd seen a couple walking by the road
on your way to meet. The sun
had cast their form. On the ground
a single rotund Shadow. you said
that was you and I — the shadow.
I remember you getting out of the car.
I remember you leaning back in.
I remember you putting your lips to my ear
I remember you closed the door.
For over a year it sat dead
At the garage. Waiting
To be let go. Abandoned
To its final date.
(20150929)
