70 year old traffic

i honk the horn, it is silent
the whippoorwill is silent
all about are rusting
and whatever can be done
will not stop the rusting,
it is you time and small rain.

i want aging wheels to turn
and it is you air
that will not allow it,
up in trees and sky
and whatever it is you do,
no one really knows where you are.

here is the metal roof and doors
and dashboard;
springs pushed up through seats
where passengers sat on
road trips; faces remembered
on brownie cameras.

i sit, keeping junkyard relics behind
me from budging an inch
moving about as fast as dead
batteries and headlights
lying on the ground, lying
in old tire treads.

yet, there is the wonder of stars
each night, and of
fireflies lighting up all radio
tubes and big band songs,
and of keychains with a
sweetheart’s photo being held.

i want no world where i can’t
hold a memory
and it once was sitting inside me,
not sprayed on with coats
of a paint, but rather were the ones
who enjoyed the ride.

Copyright © 03/19/2015 Ð Ṝ Ƣ Ñeedle & Ŧhread®

unnamed

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6 comments on “70 year old traffic

  1. Barbara K. Smith says:

    Many wonderful images & metaphors – nice!!

  2. Carolyn says:

    I want no world where I can’t hold a memory…
    this makes me remember a photo I recently came across….
    I love your metaphors and miss reading you 🙂

  3. amazing photo – amazing words

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