PowellsBooks.Blog 5 februari 2007:

 

Wheels

He has a divorce,

a mustache,

a mullet.

He has a plow on the front of his truck

a GMC, one in a

series of pick-ups he’s owned:

trucks with rusted chains on the tires,

trucks with dirt-caked shovels

clanging thisaway and that in the bed,

trucks with deer rifles racked in the cab

and deer heaped in the back,

a stink on them like wet coats piled at a party.

When it snows he drives restlessly,

thinking of friends, and old people

he can plow out for their thanks later

He drove his ex-wife to work, and that was

how she settled on her name for him,

soon everyone’s name for him.

He has a new girlfriend now,

but what he really likes is to

go to the high school without her

and watch his son wrestle,

or his daughter heave the

basketball twenty feet down court.

He likes to feel the bleachers

recklessly shimmying under him,

and to stamp his feet with everyone else.

He wrestled here,

passed the ball upcourt here,

feels the reverb of stamping feet in his blood.

He has scratch lottery tickets,

none of them winners,

in his glove compartment.

He has stiff canvas work gloves

in the glove compartment with them.

The tickets fall out whenever

he reaches for them.

He always puts the tickets back,

can’t make himself throw them away

because you can do something with them,

mail them somewhere,

and you get a second chance to win.

 

Hier is de link naar de originele blogpost!