PoTW (11-21-09) Desert Shaman
With this wistful nostalgic look back desert shaman has again impressed me with his talent to use vivid imagery to convey to the reader a sense of longing for the happy times of our youth.
Roofing Truck
Can youth be sold away?
My old man had a “56”
GMC pick-up
Blue faded to primer grey
Rusted ladder racks
Homemade toolbox
And I have found a snapshot of it
quaint and lonely
in the driveway
But my friends and I
we flew it into space
rode it into battle
and clung to its sides
with our paper fire hats
And how many times did I bounce along
a passenger on some prospect or another or
out to the dump or to load manure for the garden?
I always feared getting stalled on the railroad tracks
And how many times did I sit alone in the back
my summer mind bearing solace with my bare
feet on the rough old wooden bed midst roofing debris?
The sacred tailgate was my portal into the secret of youth
where nothing is sold!
It is something that is murdered abruptly
or dissipates gradually
on through the middle of a life
after a slippage of many years
leaving an aging figure
putting pen to paper
fumbling for splintered memory-
Some spilled three-penny nails
The smell of old torn felt
A few dried out shingles
and who keeps still
his father’s faded
brittle copy of bill of sale
Sold for $75
posted by desertshaman
Roofing Truck
Can youth be sold away?
My old man had a “56”
GMC pick-up
Blue faded to primer grey
Rusted ladder racks
Homemade toolbox
And I have found a snapshot of it
quaint and lonely
in the driveway
But my friends and I
we flew it into space
rode it into battle
and clung to its sides
with our paper fire hats
And how many times did I bounce along
a passenger on some prospect or another or
out to the dump or to load manure for the garden?
I always feared getting stalled on the railroad tracks
And how many times did I sit alone in the back
my summer mind bearing solace with my bare
feet on the rough old wooden bed midst roofing debris?
The sacred tailgate was my portal into the secret of youth
where nothing is sold!
It is something that is murdered abruptly
or dissipates gradually
on through the middle of a life
after a slippage of many years
leaving an aging figure
putting pen to paper
fumbling for splintered memory-
Some spilled three-penny nails
The smell of old torn felt
A few dried out shingles
and who keeps still
his father’s faded
brittle copy of bill of sale
Sold for $75
posted by desertshaman
