Grey, silver lucidly swirling clouds, display
a premonition of my death. Urgently, calling
me home to remember my dreams.
Innocent dreams of youth I foolishly
locked in the trunk of my impounded
1979 Cadillac DeVille.
Faded metallic green with a stale smell
of other people’s lives. Her breaks didn’t work.
Sun burnt interior thinned her original material.
One hundred and eighty horses underneath
her hood. I slowed down before I started her up
just in case she would not stop.
Many a hot day spent behind her wheel sipping
ice coffees and dreaming of my own
immortality. Moving on:
I went to Ireland, she went to the breakers,
now my youthful dreams are locked
in an Arizona inferno eternally.