On the nights I prowl under moons
gibbous and full, I come to the graveyard
of derelict cars, and like Odysseus in Hades
visiting the ghosts of Achaean
heroes, commune with the spirits
of my old automobiles

Hello, old rusting disemboweled hulks.

Hello there '39 Chevvy, you were the first one,
bought you in '48. Vacuumatic shift on
the steering wheel. A picture in our wedding
album, driving off on our honeymoon, raindrops
glistening on the freshly simonized dark green paint,
my wife green velvet suit green velvet hat.

Hello, Studebaker. You were the first new car. '51.
Royal blue and silver Commander V-8, the now-classic
Raymond Loewy bullet-nose design. Had you
for thirteen years. Our children grew up in you.
We drove to Chicago, oil spraying the windshield.

Hello, TR-3. Said to be the syndrome of my mid-life crisis.
Actually, I never had a mid-life crisis. I feel badly about that.
I took you apart and put you back together. Carnal knowledge

The cars grew old. Hello Elder Ado. Like people
in geriatric decay, becoming incontinent, dripping
fluids on the garage floor, irridescent puddles of
automotive gore.

And now goodnight. Goodnight.

...................................................................Israel Lewis