Automobile Rust: A Poem

What lives were lived within these

Weed filled hulls?

This automotive graveyard

On a windswept plateau

Where the cry of carburetor ghosts

Howls through a parking lot of vines

Did lovers discover youth’s first

Venereal sting on those ancient springs?

Did children gaze out these windows

Eyes wide on falling stars?

Did old men curse at transmissions

That were fixed in first gear?

Each ancient jalopy interned

Within its own mound

Where fallen hoods stand askew

As tombstones

Without inscriptions

Where urn shaped trunks

Cry out for mourners’ offerings

That never come.

In this field of vine and rust

No requiem for the dead was played.

The carcasses of metal were discarded

But I find it odd that even today

After years of rot and decay

These former chariots

To places both sublime and mundane.

Every window remains

Not a single glass is shattered

These diaphanous veils continue

To reflect the passing of storm clouds

And moon phases

And give us a glimpse

Into the crystalline void

Of yesterday