Today's poem is by James Hoch

The Car

He liked the car because it went nowhere;
meaning, the car sat on blocks in the backyard
where rain fell relentless against old paint
and the living kept their clothes in suitcases;
meaning, slowly the car suffered erosion,
rust-weakened undercarriage, floorboards,
and the living talked of change, starting over;
meaning, some nights the car became a sofa,
where he nodded off with the agility of a drunk,
snoring away like a sympathetic engine,
and the living rented a room in a motel
with an unobstructed view of the highway;
meaning, the car was still there, in the yard,
when work went south and the house
sold to a young couple with fresh ideas
who hired a tow truck to haul the car away;
meaning the car was already in the junkyard,
stacked high on a cathedral of wrecks,
the stale rank of error, the heel marks of joy,
when he moved down the shore, where he rests
most days in a plaid, sagging chair, staring
at an unmovable ocean, his eyes like dull lamps.

Copyright © 2007 James Hoch All rights reserved
from Miscreants
W. W. Norton
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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