All the singing we did in cars
trails behind us.
Cartoon notes
flutter from open windows
in the time before
air conditioning
and
tape decks.
An old brown Rambler
may still be rusting somewhere
alongside an aquamarine
Ford station wagon
busted seat cushions
humming
the harmonies.
When we were violins
Horns
Drums
Clarinets
going
doodle doodle doodle doodle det
Early Morning Poems 