It was parked in
the shopping center lot
all by itself.

There were screaming
girls touching the doors,
rubbing the paint.

My mom held me up so I
could see the tv
in the backseat.

I was amazed that you
could watch tv, let
the driver drive, never know

you were in a car
at all. And I forgot about
his .45 records, all

the drive-in movies he
sang in. But my mother
didn’t. She put me down,

waded through the girls
and tried the door lock.
And then she touched

his window for a long,
long time like she never
touched my dad’s face.

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