I was young and I drove a piss-yellow, Ford station wagon.
A friend called it the “Wagoon.” He said it was wicked.
One time, Jennifer dropped a love note in my Wagoon.
She promised me she would be with me forever.
I knew then nothing bad would ever happen.
I drove my Wagoon, well over the speed limit,
with all of the windows down, even the back one
that might asphyxiate me with the richest exhaust fumes.
One time, I wanted to floor that Wagoon
and fling myself off of the dam and die in flames,
but it never happened and I never knew why.
I was neither drunk nor high.
I was crying in the 7-Eleven parking lot when I came to.
I wonder if it was God.
Jennifer played the violin.
Her entire being would swim warmly through me.
One time, Jennifer left me because I wasn’t good enough.
I know that all sorts of bad things always happen.
I wish I still had that Ford Wagoon, but it was scrap long ago.
stillfugue 