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My Blue Chevrolet
The light in the corner of the room fades,
The door is seemingly opened by the wind,
And on the steps stands a man,
His car engine warm and steering wheel still wet from his sweat,
The tattered curtains flail in the breeze,
Sunlight invades the corners, then dims again,
The barking dog is now silent, and the man still stands,
His hat in his hand, and his eyes on the ground,
The wind picks up the dust and enters the house,
Pushing the man forward,
He makes concentrated steps,
The dog is still silent; the sun comes and goes,
And the wind is still littering the house with dust.
But the man no longer stands, he walks,
He enters the house, hat held firmly in his hand,
And goes to the dimly lit chair in the corner,
He sits, and slowly rocks,
Places his hat on his knee, and feels the curtain brush against his face,
Inhales the dust through his nostrils, and warms under the sun,
Until, it again fades,
His eyes close, his rocking stops,
The wind ceases, the sun fades,
And the dog begins to bark,
His hat falls to the floor,
And the dust puffs up into the air,
And settles upon his face,
He sleeps.
