Tag Archives: poetry

The ’56 International
was almost indestructible
when the straight-six fired
and the six-volt starter
got beyond slow groans
to ignite a spark,
explode the vapor
in the piston chamber
to run on her own.

She was temperamental
with smooth hood up,
heavy round fenders
and running boards—
a tough country woman
easy to personify
wanting procedures
                                        in order
you had to remember
or become superstitious
with only juice enough
for two chances
to start over.

I never locked her up
when I left,
but always a toss-up
which way to go:
take the longer asphalt mile
and hope for a ride
or wade the creek
straight cross-country
in my wet boots home.

                            for Tim Loverin & Richard Barkley

photo: Jaro Spichal

I steal a look into the blurry morning mirror
after a second cup of coffee: a gray Medusa-do
replacing decades of darker curiosities

that recollect the Brylcreem coifs, the forelock
dip, loose strands dangling like my connection
to rock and roll—to the replaceable, double-A hearts

of Ricky and Elvis inside my Zenith transistor
a long ways from town—from the here and now
before I turn away from the worn-out look

that chuckles back at me. But this is the way
to wake up to reality, like Perseus, with only
quick glances into Athena’s shiny shield.