For My Mother
The dashboard is a foot rest.
My heels vibrate to the engine’s hum.
The lights of the Atlantic & Pacific
Flood the cool October night
Like a traveling carnival.
“Who is the horse?” you wonder,
“Who is the carrot? Who drives who?”
The cart pinballs from
Aisle wall
To aisle wall.
The milk is toppling about.
The eggs are bleeding, the bread’s been deflated
And the bruised strawberries are seeking shelter up top.
Your laugh is the soundtrack
Composed by my steering.
You are still a giant to me
And will be for four years.
You store me in the back seat
Among the paper bag jungle and the cereal box skyscrapers.
The garage door opens and I am awake.
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