Road Blogger

This was inspired by Douglas Goetsch Poem "What I do"

What Miles do

I washed the car the way he did,
bucket, brush, towels, wax and soap
early, before the sun, after a rain
spraying the chrome, hub caps, hood,
roof top, soaping up, rinsing off,
wiping down, applying wax revealing
shiny reflections.
Maybe he felt like them, or just pride for
owning a cool car.

Squatting low, leaning against
a fender looking for holidays.
What I did was help him look
by following his eyes along the
glossy curves and over the hood
towards an open screen door
where a man stood with his eyes
crossed like his arms.
The man saw my father smile.
He saw there was more to my
father that I couldn’t see when later
my father and I competed man to

man. I begin to get it when I react, when I
shave my patchy stubble on my
chin and upper lip. When we
were out on the town breathing
the night and sipping whiskey with a cube of ice
the way we like it. Gagging on cigars together
when man with eyes crossed, returns as
twenty-something’s shouting gook and chink.
I smiled his same smile and the same
The hell with you!
before they disappeared into the night.