when they took you
if they noticed your smell,
that comforting mix of cool metal, warm leather,
and the more elusive qualities of age.
did they have trouble with the downshift
into first, like i always did,
or note the gentle “put-put” scales
of your acceleration?
could they feel the familiar slump
to your driver’s seat,
the way the back grooved just so,
a perfect echo of another’s body?
was that intimacy enough to make even
their heart blush?
was there more than one of them?
and, if so,
did the second one feel
the satisfying heft of your door clanking shut?
were my toeprints still there,
on the dash, and the windshield,
gauzing their view of the getaway route?
did they attempt to unroll
your fickle passenger side window,
finding, finally, that
jingle-jangle rhythm of release?
did they slide, intuitively, into that place
you always held,
elbow slung out the window,
neck nestled against your seat,
hair tousled (illicitly) by the passing breeze?
and did they smile, in spite of themselves
and the cold sting of their departure?
i wouldn’t blame them.
life always felt better from that spot.
were their silhouettes
the same as ours, framed
by the gentle arc of your rear window,
and the ruby glow of your tail lights?
or did they read,
through the noir haze of late night,
like the fugitives they were?
did they feel the way the world looked at you
how you were a gateway
to so many unplanned conversations,
so many unorchestrated connections?
when they looked at you
if they saw only the price tags dangling
from your disembodied parts.
or did they also understand
the shared history they were dismantling,
the planned future they were tearing apart?
did they know
that just two blocks away
slept a man, a woman,
and one little boy,
who would miss you everyday
like a lost piece of their own hearts?
december 28, 2016