Red Car

bounds and bows with a heartbeat thrum
from driving over bridge supports,
cruising down 91, into the tide of night.

Motown fills the cabin.
A trillion billion galaxies, the sum of time
wake and shimmer as
amber electric torches
glide by, guide us and split wide to
reveal a city of stars.

I look up at him,
between the slabs of oscillating light.
I do not recall his face, but he does not seem
mad at me. Mom’s checkbook is my
clearance for another coke chase.

This is my only good memory of him,
and all that I am.