While we rumble into the blackness, staring at street reflectors and suburban living room scenes flying
Away from the windshield --not so lucky as the moths
Under the wiper-blades --
As my father's foot misses beat
After beat of the Lou Reed song mumbling
Through the speakers
When it strikes just
After the bass drum
Upon the floor of his 1991 Chevy Silverado
And its rugs that he vacuumed on Monday, I still feel guilty -- thinking
About my mother's trash that used to litter those floors on days we rode downtown for Newports and Coors Light
Without playing the radio --
When I climb
Over the Pepsi bottles and Frito's bags
Into the driver's seat of the hatchback he bought for me,
Because he couldn't take me
With him, once and for all,
Out of there and
Away from the piles of my mother's trash.
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I really like this.
ReplyDeleteAre those your pepsi bottles and frito's bags in your hatchback?
Life is full of situations like "Well, I can't completely fix the situation for you, but I want to, so I hope this other thing I got you helps."
And your poem makes me feel like that, the sadness of not being able to rescue someone, and the tenderness of still trying to make the best situation you can for them with what you are able to do.
Thanks for the speedy posting! =)
I love this.
ReplyDeleteThanks, dudes.
ReplyDeleteSarah, the Pepsi bottles, etc. are definitely mine.