Poetry 2013 / Volume 44

Elvis’ Car — William Miller

It was parked in
the shopping center lot
all by itself.

There were screaming
girls touching the doors,
rubbing the paint.

My mom held me up so I
could see the tv
in the backseat.

I was amazed that you
could watch tv, let
the driver drive, never know

you were in a car
at all. And I forgot about
his .45 records, all

the drive-in movies he
sang in. But my mother
didn’t. She put me down,

waded through the girls
and tried the door lock.
And then she touched

his window for a long,
long time like she never
touched my dad’s face.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s