CONVERTIBLE

 

 

Now, here in front of me,
I see mom’s elbow
sticking out from
a VW Cabriolet
driving down Capital Circle,
an occasional puff
of cigarette smoke
filling the still air
in the cab for a moment,
then dissipating.
The car stays
just ahead of me
in the lane over.
I’m glad to see her
so free on the road,
remember how
difficult it could be
for her to get into
my car, though under
a ballcap, she still
looks a little anxious,
hoping, I think,
people will admire
all of this.
The spot where I was hit
without my consent
pulses a little. Mom
& I don’t bruise easily.
A cop pulls behind her.
We are going 60 in a 45.
The convertible’s brake
lights stay unlit,
but we slow down,
& the cop cruises
next to us for a while.
The VW signals
& pulls into my lane.
The cop pulls ahead.
I slide into the passing
lane, not wanting the illusion
to dissipate. Mom’s dream
car was a Mazda Miata
convertible, red.

I don’t turn my head
as I pass, just smile
a little, happy to
see her happy, but not
so much that the driver
might think I’m
checking him out.

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BIO: 

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Mat Wenzel’s work has appeared in Limp Wrist, Homology Lit, Crab Fat Magazine, Carve, Puerto del Sol, Glitterwolf Magazine, and other places. Mat’s National Parks Passport currently has 37 stamps in it. Mat also collects squished pennies and makes zines and poetry. Mat teaches writing in Fort Worth, TX.