I think of you every time ‘ol blue eyes
croons his velvet melodies on my
dusty car radio. His cd case lays in pieces
on the floor of the passenger side
among spilt coffee grounds, crumbled bits of leaves,
and a pair of old socks I brought bowling
one time.
Remember when I was small enough
to sit propped
between you and the steering wheel of
your little red truck?
Garfield and Odie slid across the windshield while I licked
ribbons of chocolate from my upper lip, giggling
as you put one finger to your wrinkled half smile.
“Don’t tell you Dad, you know he’s got breakfast waiting at home”
Now when I put my car into drive, I wish
I was still your first mate in
your little red truck
that rocked and rolled and ran
just like you did when you tossed me into the pond
like a sack of potatoes
and I looked at you like
you were everything.
bedheadreveries 