My Old Red Truck
Time has lapsed and made things different.
I remember that old red truck and you sitting in the passenger side.
But now I can't hear you as you try saying something across the glass.
A glass wall sections the truck dividing down the middle.
I can't hear a word. All I see is you moving your lips, hitting,
slapping the glass, saying something, eyes are gleaming, upset.
I look over calmly, staring, wondering what it is you are trying to say.
I look down and turn the key to start the truck.
I start to backup but the truck you're in stays there.
I drive out into the street from those blue garage doors of that old house.
And I leave that