The Art of Tetman Callis Poems the silver volkswagen beetle

the silver volkswagen beetle

she drove up this evening, before sunset,
in her silver volkswagen beetle, one of the new kind.
it made a loud rackety clacking noise, as though
it really were powered by hamsters on a wheel.
many hamsters, on a large wheel.

i watched from the kitchen window. our son, hers and mine,
had gone out to meet her. the two of them
stood by the gate, talking in the evening’s
golden light. i could not see her face.
her hair was very chestnut in the light,
but i believe she colors it now.
i saw her figure in profile. she has a bit of a belly.
so do i. we age.
as i watched her i thought,
i used to fuck the daylights out of her,
then felt vaguely frightened and annoyed that such a thought
would run through my head, snatching words along its way.

i washed my hands at the kitchen sink. when she
drove away, her silver volkswagen beetle
was so quiet, i didn’t hear her leave.

(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)

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