POEM - Summer of ‘88

You used to let me drive us to work

In the Pinto. All the way into Phoenix

Back when Mill Avenue still

Went down into the dry Salt River

Unless it rained. Then they’d set up

Four lanes on the old bridge. Narrow

Lanes. The trucks made me nervous.

Probably was worse for you. Up Mill

Then it would turn into Washington

Or Jefferson or Van Buren

Some dead president. West bound

We would listen to House of the Holy

On the tape deck. Talking over music

That we liked and why and that time

You went and saw Blood, Sweat and

Tears at the Marriott Center. Had to move

Half-way through. It was too loud.

Hey Dad, stay right there sitting

In those tan plastic seats. Not quite

Relaxed because I wasn’t completely

Getting the hang of commuting. Other

Cars on the road. Some near side swipes

Probably added some gray hairs. Patient

As you could be you never yelled, but

You watched that side view mirror

Like it was the most interesting thing

That had ever been created. I noticed

And took to watching it a little closer.

I’m nervous these days. Watching

That mirror in the same way. My children

Are trying to give me a coronary

Or two. What is better is we listen

To the same music. Like you and I

Did. It made the difference to not

Be shut down and shut out without

An opinion on what we did. The most

Cooperative carpool. Father and son

Driving to the daily grind. There was

No work during the travel. Somehow

A lot of things got built just the same.