The other day I could swear
I saw my first car drive by.
It would be forty-two years old now.
Back then, I sold it as is.
As is included a crowded back seat
with a box of buckwheat cereal.
Whitman’s Leaves of Grass.
A jade plant in terracotta pot.
My softball spikes
glove, bat, and team t-shirt.
A past due library book on snakes.
Fourteen found puzzle pieces.
A leaded green telephone pole glass.
Two pennies.
Three nickels.
And seven dimes.
When I approached the car
I swore was my first car
all of that stuff remained in the back seat
but had been incorporated into a 3D diorama
of da Vinci’s Last Supper
partially covered by a floral beach towel.
And the eighty-seven cents
had grown to three dollars and eighteen cents.
copyright © 2022 Kenneth P. Gurney
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