deepundergroundpoetry.com

Green Car

 Charlie stands, his best shoes askew. There are white
marks from the walk along the gravel, the newness scuffed. He squirms
away from the collar of the shirt then stops, remembering earlier
instructions. He doesnít understand all the words the man says

and no one else is moving or speaking, but a bird flies
from the pine branch and he watches it circle
then disappear into the woods. Grandma
has her handkerchief at her mouth, and that woman

over there ó are those tears? Charlie turns to his father
but his jaw is rigid and his eyes still havenít left the polished
casket. Charlie leans closer to Grandma and clutches
tight to the green car he has hidden in his hand.

Atakti
Written by Atakti
Published
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