FOR ME?
The pickup's tires
scrunched
on the gravel
driveway.
He pulled
the dull metal
frame,
sparse as a skeleton,
from the truck bed
bouncing the tiny tires.
Sans rubber
hand and pedal grips,
worn dry and brittle
till they fell off,
the way retreads
split off semis,
still
it was beautiful.
Dared I hope?
'Oh, daddy,
thank you!'
I jumped on his neck.
It would be
the last time
I ever kissed him.
c 10/18/97 lovepat press
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