I hold a card strip of Montana torn from a map.
In a dream I’m in a state I’ve never been in, gear in park;
I’m alone again, thinking of the procession of family cars —
one named “Shasta” as in “Shasta be fixed,”
another “Sheila” as in “Sheila have to be fixed.”
I imagine that those big sedans from the 50’s drove
like boats delivering my family before me onto shore
over and over again, the big engines humming
car pulling into motel parking lot, turning off, roadtripping
paused, the TV turned on to flicker against gathering dusk.
Andrew Shattuck McBride
October 13, 2012
PaPoWriMo ~ 2012 *Day Fifteen Poem*