My experience learning to drive was possibly lack of confidence. As iI went to a driving school; three months, not every day. Nor with friends or companion. I never knew if I would be a good or bad driver. My instructor,
only pointed to the things I didn't know. One of which was the parking brake.
That is crucial to know in driving. My guess is that I either needed more time
behind the wheel; daily or time to get over my fear. Too late! At any rate, I can't now, I'm 82, and time to get off the road.
I don't think I was given the ability of alertness. One needs to have that. I can't ride a bike or skate either. However, I am very creative.I can paint or draw by coloing. Write books and poetry; assemble greeting cards. This takes particular attention to the brain. So, although I can't do mobile object things, I can do something, that brings people closer together.
I can see them.
Even after almost being impaled.
Still.
I could die without even knowing.
Instead, I don’t.
I saw them outside today.
Hot tea does that to you.
Makes everything burning hot.
Recoiling.
As if they’re coming for me.
Sipping.
An old premonition.
I can see.
The people that were supposed to be here-
But sometimes appointments have to be rescheduled.
Downhill.
I can see them.
Ominous as hot tea.
I could have driven to work to take my mind off things.
The things that are like ghosts, and also like a pile of laundry.
If laundry could kill me, I would never go home.
That’s what death is.
I decided to sleep in my car in the parking lot.
An old premonition…
Gets tiring to keep track of.
Did I put on the parking brake?
And lock the doors?
I would laugh, but then I’d start over.
And that’s what outside does to me.
Carries me to my car.
Never go home.
So the premonition goes.
I forgot to set the parking brake.
So now my wife's car is in the lake.
You're looking at a man who can never catch a break.
My wife kicked my ass just because I made a mistake.
She broke my left leg and I'm having to use a crutch.
I don't blame her for being mad but coming at me with a chainsaw is a bit too much.
(This is a fictional poem)
This part happened, this first part is true
But the story stretched and the exaggerations too
A trucker arrived to offload what he had to deliver
A hat and coat, avoiding a morning shiver
I was wondering about his means of transportation
I looked at the trucker and automatically knew without a mustache, he was part of the Amish
Truckers Association
I knew there had to be a wagon and horse involved
Sticker on the side reading Barn needed, a barn raising every Sunday, problem solved
Oats bag over the horse's mouth, wagon parking brake locked in place
Not an eighteen wheeler, so doesn't take up a lot of space
His name was Eli
Do you believe me, why would I lie?
Pensalvania was his final destination
It all leads to him being a member of the Amish Truckers Association
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