The Car. In The Stream.
Old Mercury, dragged out of the weeds,
a rusty corpse, twenty years’ worth of miles
dripping three feet of mud –
I could have told them years ago that it was there –
but the town’s being beautified –
folks might even shave the bums.
Crane’s hee-hawing like a mule.,
kids line the river,
one or two afraid they’ll see
skeletal hands gripped to the wheel –
but this wreck was dumped here –
no plates, its numbers scraped,
its history as good as drowned –
someone says, “Joey Palmer
used to drive a car like that.”
Car’s hauled off to the metal crushers,
folks disperse, brown and murky
stream stays its course-—
everyone soon forgets that Joey Palmer got remembered
Bio: John Grey is an Australian born poet. Recently published in International Poetry Review, Sanskrit and the science fiction anthology, “Futuredaze” with work upcoming in Clackamas Literary Review, New Orphic Review and Nerve Cowboy.