we bought for fifteen dollars, black and rangy, parked in the darkness of an abandoned car wash, while in the morning his moonface hung over me, a redundant sun. This rodeo of a ride had no reverse, made a poor case for living the free and easy life, its carcass often stuck in the hospital no parking zone. Still, it’s where I landed, this cheap constellation of rays and cones, this hairy-headed boy who pursued me, ensnared me, freed me from the navy’s swabbies, could drop acid, smoke dope, but couldn’t afford a room. Days we lounged contentedly in the casket wagon, maybe walking to the dairy to devour hot fudge sundaes where he’d describe luminous planets, a bloom of sunbow rays. Some regret the loose track of the past, the ride through crumpled days, but I think it's sorrowful to get your back up over missteps, divide life into what is and what was, so I’ve combed the limber lines of once upon a time, consulted the oracle, embraced the train of shallow days, and pose content in the shadow of my lost insolence. Crab Creek Review Spring 2017
Poems by Judy Kaber