Driving without Radio
One minute you’re sipping coffee at the stoplight,
and the next you find yourself six miles
down the road, wondering how you got there,
just two exits before the French bakery
and your favorite weekday breakfast taco stand.
Or while pondering the life of mud,
you almost stomp the brakes when a 40-year old
memory oozes in — two weeks before Thanksgiving,
the windshield icing over (inside), while most definitely
not watching the drive-in movie in Junction City, Kansas,
her warm sighs on your neck and ear, and the art
of opening cheap wine with a hairbrush. How many
construction barrels must one dodge to conjure these
delights, unsought and long misfiled? You turn right
on 29th Street and just for a moment think you’ve seen
an old friend, looking as he did before he died,
but better, and happier, and of course it’s just a trash bag
caught in a plum tree, waving hello, waving goodbye.
“Driving without Radio” was published at Split Rock Review in November 2016. Many thanks to editor Crystal Gibbins for providing a home for this one.
I love this!
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Thanks, Liz! Oh, those ancient memories!
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You’re welcome, Bob!
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Both whimsical and poignant. Only you, Bob!
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Thanks, Cate. My life seems to always contain a bit of both.
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Mine, too, Bob.
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Bob, what a vivid tale of windshield gazing, seeing waves of long gone friends. Mine greet me this way now and then, too.
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There seem to be more and more of them, Brother Clyde. The hazards (and privilege) of aging.
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