![]() |
10k views, 2x BestPoetryCollection. A nothing from nowhere cast words to a world wide wind |
Cruise Control Dad with the blinker on We just noticed, as kids, maybe once, now eternal, Dad drove everywhere the same speed — 45 miles per hour on M-95 to our camp. Through town, 10 miles over the limit. Mom: “Slow down John. Do you want to get a ticket?” He scoffed, mildly, derisively. On the cut off road, twists, turns, belly flops from dips — forty-five. It didn’t matter if gravel or blacktop, cruisin’ speed, steady-set, boot to pedal in that flat-green, Ford pickup, weighing needle scoring its usual number, 45. His ball cap tilted up and back, sweat on brow, breezes flew perfectly through the cabin — blowing my blond hair south, and east, and west, then briefly north drifted in again. He leaned into a hard wheel, shouldered a skinless frame. A few times, gave that brim a wiggle, loosed a few of his loud sighs. We asked if we could hang our arms out the window. He’d point to an old guy in a wagon passing, stub of arm hung on the frame. “That’s how he lost his.” We didn’t believe, but didn’t question, and so, behaved as children ‘seen, and not heard'. He’d still stop at Tastee Freeze, probably wanted ice cream, too. He gave me my dime, dropped on the white, weathered counter to order my chocolate cone. He preferred vanilla. To my brother, I low-whispered, “He probably lost his arm in the war,” and with darting tongues gathered the brown melts, quick slop rolling down those waffles. The freckled shrimp spit through two holes in his beat-red, wicked face — he already knew that. 6.17.24 revised 33 lines, free (prose-y) verse Story poem 3.25.22 48 lines, free verse, originally |