Twenty Floors Up, Peering Out a Window

08/22

In the window of my dream

high above the street

I see my father float by

in an aquamarine 1957 Desoto.

Tailfins like a shark

red brake lights shining

as he stops to wave.

I forgot that before I knew him

he had hair

and friends called him Red.

I wonder if somewhere in my dream

there is a carpark in the clouds

where all the cool cars still reside.

Maybe a bullet-nosed, grey Studebaker

waits with my Granddad at the wheel

telling me to hurry

the fish are biting

and we need to flee

before Grandma demands

he take her on a Sunday drive.

The carpark goes on forever;

memories hiding like Waldo

in a crowded room.

You know he is in there somewhere,

but where.

You wonder why

Waldo is always in a crowded room.

Is he lonely, is he lost

and does he even want to be found?

Twice the airline has lost my luggage.

I don’t trust them anymore

and now they demand

I check my carry-on

before I leap from the window

into the backseat of Dad’s DeSoto.

I stand on the window ledge

gripping mom’s hand-made curtains

trying to decide,

if I leave my father

or my baggage behind.