A loved object
Like my dad’s pearl-handled knife
I took care of the Subaru for years
and always knew exactly where it was
(except for that one time in Jackson Heights)
Then a UPS truck
crushed the door
and bent the frame
and the Subaru is no more
The next car will come
with the musical tastes
and self-talk of its owner
still vibrating in the cabin
someone who liked folk-punk
or grunge or planning
next year’s garden in her head
when stuck in traffic.
We’ll never know
but the traces will be there
mixing with our own
and one day
Bach will feel repulsive
and we’ll want to drink vermouth
and watch TV.
I am also a pre-owned vehicle
With urges baked
into the upholstery
old thoughts like coffee stains
in the cupholder
the radio picking up
signals from another life
and there’s nothing to be done
but keep on driving.
A professional editor for over thirty years, Ed works in a variety of genres. His projects have received publishing and professional awards.