Loco

a poem for Nicole Bootz

Guys stops us at a gas station

(pulled up by a bright festive by ford)

asks us if we like our shique car
she says yes and I think yes and he smiles nods
“is it automatic?”

she says yes and I notice, yes, it is,
but that doesn't stop me from wondering
what it's like to drive a car so old
it holds more memories than you

I wish life could be as simple as picking
out your ride
be it simple or sophisticated or leather inside
do we want it complicated or so
ridiculously simple it constantly stalls
or something so shiny the sun streaks
off its walls

They say you can tell a lot about a person by the car
they drive
I disagree

I know I'll always be the one driving
a glistening white Modigliano Lamborghini
and wishing I was in my brother's
junkyard on wheels stickshift piece of trash

By A. J. Webb