A Father’s Approval
It’s too damn hot
for words so I
break down &
turn on the
air-conditioning
in this car my
father sold me
18 years ago.
It was pristine
back then,
the ashtray
hadn’t even
been used,
but now it’s a
bucket of bolts,
door handles
ripped off,
the overhead
upholstery
sagging so that
it touches the
top of my head,
cracks in the
windshield,
junk all over the
floorboard.
I scribble away
on my yellow pad
in the cool
of this
minor concession,
still trying to
gain his
approval.
