Photo and Story by Neens
I remember the miles of open grey road
Tom sitting comfortably behind my wheel,
The time he took Rose to the Town Hall
to dance the night away.
Her lipstick smile,
when we pulled up to greet her
with a large bouquet of red and pink roses,
How she ruffled her dress as she slid
carefully into my passenger seat.
For years they sat inside me,
Laughing and talking long journeys through,
Tuning in my crackly radio and praising me
for my faithful service.
Tom started to worry that I would break down,
Cost them money they no longer had,
Rose filled out paperwork for bus passes,
tried her best to convince Tom to accept.
He hid it inside my glove box
And drove me through the Winter and
into the Spring,
Patting the seat where his wife used to sit.
Talking to me in lieu of her absence.
Tom’s bus pass is still in my glove box,
I am just as I was left,
minus my driver,
Rose could never bring herself to sell me,
I am part of their story.
Sitting out here,
marking the passing of time.
This is a poem I submitted on ‘Storied Impressions’ for the February theme – Red.