Monday, March 3, 2014

Poem

















Photo by RP Thomas


Old Fury

One exterior wall covered with license
plates from at least 27
states was the old woman’s idea—stolen
from a photo she’d seen in an old magazine.

Not a garage at all, but a bare and unsecured
portage of recycled planks, the structure
and the ‘57 Fury somehow gave the old woman
stature among her curious friends along Colver Road.

A vintage Plymouth with enormous fins,
the car was the same color as the woman’s fine,
flushed jowls when she drank her gin, and the
neighbors always wondered if it be by design—

The old man’s idea of a prank—for unlike his wife
he was much loathed in Talent and along Colver Road.
The car sat there day after day for years, undriven,
until the old woman died of cancer in ‘97. 

The old man, who died in ’88 and preferred his
Chevy pickup and his whiskey straight, never bothered to 
teach his wife how to drive, which explains why the 
Fury is so pristine and Colver Road is filled with such life.


TS

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