|1939 Plymouth Road King, uncomposted.|
I wanted to see old broke cars.
Especially round ones like Edwardian
Sofas, with side-view mirrors
Dangling like arthritic hands.
There I am at four,
Excited in the back seat. Parents
In front, pleased their kid
Needs no amusement parks,
Ice cream cones. The 1939
Plymouth long landfill under Philadelphia
Airport runway. Parents long ashes, both.
Me, awed, laughing, pointing
At comic Studebakers like camels
Resting on their axles, rusted, broken-
Tooth grilles grinning back.
A Kaiser-Fraser with one sun visor
Turned down like a man who'd
Shaved off an eyebrow.
Old broke cars with running boards
For the little tramp to jump upon
And steal a ride, and him and it
To ass-and-tea kettle clatter
Down the long road