Matchbox Car – Poem #127 – From the Archives



You find it when your old life is lost
moving dressers, peering under the bed
while trying to make some sense of it all
through cobwebs, mites and cat hair

furniture and lamps
a most familiar room
where someone else will live
the house and all it’s walls embracing strangers

Through the blinds, Apollo’s light
would lay it’s stripes upon our bed
waking us from each other’s arms
and dreams on Sunday mornings

but that is past;
the procession of the living goes on
those moments becoming like the dust
which you vaguely know was once your skin.

there are girl things
dolls you carry by one leg
with hard rubber hands and dimples
and clothes you take off and on

these things we take
for girls will not part with them
but in his empty dresser drawer
a boy thing; a tiny match box car

solid metal
primary color
undamaged since that long ago day
when she had to put it away

now out of it’s dark place
you hold it, eyes brimming
it makes no allowances, makes no differences
you leave it lovingly in the corner of his bedroom closet.




About toritto

I was born during year four of the reign of Emperor Tiberius Claudius on the outskirts of the empire in Brooklyn. I married my high school sweetheart, the girl I took to the prom and we were together for forty years until her passing in 2004. We had four kids together and buried two together. I had a successful career in Corporate America (never got rich but made a living) and traveled the world. I am currently retired in the Tampa Bay metro area and live alone. One of my daughters is close by and one within a morning’s drive. They call their pops everyday. I try to write poetry (not very well), and about family. Occasionally I will try a historical piece relating to politics. :-)
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1 Response to Matchbox Car – Poem #127 – From the Archives

  1. beetleypete says:

    So sad, Frank. I felt I was in the room with you.
    Best wishes, Pete.


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