Still Life in a Hearse

we bought for fifteen dollars, black and rangy, 
parked in the darkness of an abandoned car wash,  
while in the morning his moonface hung over me, 
a redundant sun. This rodeo of a ride had no reverse, 

made a poor case for living the free and easy life, 
its carcass often stuck in the hospital no parking zone. 
Still, it’s where I landed, this cheap constellation 
of rays and cones, this hairy-headed boy who pursued me, 

ensnared me, freed me from the navy’s swabbies, could drop 
acid, smoke dope, but couldn’t afford a room. Days 
we lounged contentedly in the casket wagon, maybe walking 
to the dairy to devour hot fudge sundaes where he’d describe 

luminous planets, a bloom of sunbow rays. 
Some regret the loose track of the past, the ride  
through crumpled days, but I think it's sorrowful 
to get your back up over missteps, divide life 

into what is and what was, so I’ve combed 
the limber lines of once upon a time, consulted 
the oracle, embraced the train of shallow days, 
and pose content in the shadow of my lost insolence. 

Crab Creek Review
Spring 2017