pontiac

I saw a Brewster Green ’73 Firebird
with a bumper sticker that read
“I never thought I’d miss Nixon”.
I laughed so hard
I spat out
scalding coffee
and I thought about
my old man.

My old man
was a rock-ribbed
Republican.
My mom, too
in a firm and quiet way.
“I don’t care who you are
you’re never too poor
to pick up your own front yard”
they’d always say.

I didn’t notice
the scam of
2000
I was getting divorced,
he was comic relief.
“Another one-termer
just like his poppa” –
even my old man
called him a thief.

My old man
and I talked the
evening after the
towers came down.
He was watching CNN.
“Look at his face” he
told me, “that man
is a coward, you can see the panic
in his eyes.”

Ir’ny is –
an AWOL flyer
touching down
with his helmet in his hand
adjusting his codpiece
under a banner, saying
“mission accomplished”, my old man
choked on lost words – he went red and
spat and cursed.

My old man
saw the fear in his
eyes and
I saw it too,
when he gave that big speech
about the architects of freedom
whose names he did not know –
a lost little boy, on a stage
that dwarfs him.

I saw a Brewster Green ’73 Firebird
with a bumper sticker that read
“I never thought I’d miss Nixon”.
And I never felt closer
to my old man.

Photobucket

This poem originally appeared on my MySpace blog, Full Mental Jacket, on 1/29/2007

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This entry was published on 01/29/2007 at 9:56 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

One thought on “pontiac

  1. liverloverlass on said:

    Sums it all up. Yep.

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