Playing in Wrecks

A tow- truck brings in the wrecks
strung up by the neck like shiny fish,
no fight left in them,
and lays them to rest behind Hubbard’s Garage

When everything is still life,
the family leaving the thing for dead,
I approach respectfully,
enter and log a sketchy stretch of
playhouse miles

This is where I learn to
Stop  Look  Listen
Do you believe in ghosts?
Steer, Shift and Look Both Ways
for flashbacks in stains and broken glass

This is where I whisper out loud
a reverent prayer and question,
Am I a crazy child?
and understanding the laws of just-in-case and
you better believe it,
kiss the dashboard, cross my Congregational chest
and guide each soul out of the metal, after me

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