My America (1992)
Posted: March 27th, 2015, 3:37 pm
A solitary sweating salesman’s car idles
at this Main Street’s lone stop sign.
He curses the fender corn* dusting
his ’87 robin blue egg Toyota Celica.
The fifty-one year old, softly graying
driver once married his teenage sweetheart,
begat three children, was divorced last April,
now taps his nicotine stained fingers
to Billy Joel’s “It’s Still Rock-n’-Roll to Me”
in a melodramatic kind of cadence,
whistles while watching a banker’s blond daughter
hip stroll in the shadow of the only grain elevator.
She smiles like a Cheshire cat, knows
she married her money from another town,
but doesn’t stop her from nodding
until the Celica passes her on the way out
to Highway 63 north to Excelsior.
(*a regional term for air born tasseling pollen)
at this Main Street’s lone stop sign.
He curses the fender corn* dusting
his ’87 robin blue egg Toyota Celica.
The fifty-one year old, softly graying
driver once married his teenage sweetheart,
begat three children, was divorced last April,
now taps his nicotine stained fingers
to Billy Joel’s “It’s Still Rock-n’-Roll to Me”
in a melodramatic kind of cadence,
whistles while watching a banker’s blond daughter
hip stroll in the shadow of the only grain elevator.
She smiles like a Cheshire cat, knows
she married her money from another town,
but doesn’t stop her from nodding
until the Celica passes her on the way out
to Highway 63 north to Excelsior.
(*a regional term for air born tasseling pollen)
I'm too much in love w/theater though. Will probably spend more of my free time there. Or here. Or on a golf course. 
