“What’s this?”
“What’s what?”
“What’s this wheel?”
“It’s a steering wheel, Dad.”
I’m incredulous.
“But it’s different.”
He touches it gingerly like it might be hot.
“Well, yes, it’s been quite a few years,
forty-two in fact, since you’ve been dead.
Some things have changed a lot
over that time. Steering wheels, for example,
have gotten much smaller.”
I roll my eyes.
“Oh my.”
He pauses, thinking a long time, then says,
“What else is different about cars?”
Michael
says: "Well the 3 kids are gone, out on their own, but the wife is
still here and the stupid dog and the computer and email so I will write
on, to what end I am not sure, but write on I will; still trying to get
into the best poetry journals possible, both online and otherwise, and
hoping to publish a real book of poems, called A Superlative Woman, about
my superlative wife, one of these days."
Michael
says: "Well the 3 kids are gone, out on their own, but the wife is
still here and the stupid dog and the computer and email so I will write
on, to what end I am not sure, but write on I will; still trying to get
into the best poetry journals possible, both online and otherwise, and
hoping to publish a real book of poems, called A Superlative Woman, about
my superlative wife, one of these days."