Crooked blue Chevy

new poem

Could be your ball joint is about to go.
Peeled the apples before they went bad,
cored them and getting out the pie tin.
The sight of your Chevy bouncing crooked
down our road
just keeps playing in my head.

Did the dishes, got two plates out
just in case.
Got work tomorrow,
hope cicadas will let me sleep.

Your job sounds good,
hope they like you there.
Hope they have phones
at your next hotel.

Now you got me sitting here
listening to all my Art Gilliam
on a rainy Saturday night in Georgia,
wishing I could get just one minute back
to check those wheels.

* * *

I wrote this on Saturday. I was emailing back and forth with a fellow old jazz lover when he wrote to me, "Now you got me sitting here listening to all my Art Gilliam on a rainy Saturday night in Georgia." I felt a poem bloom immediately. I'm still tinkering with it.



on the road photo by me, not sure where this was