A Car Like My Father’s


This one guy

sideswiped that other guy

and didn’t look back.

As I turned I saw

their green glass littering

the black asphalt.

At the crosswalk nearby

no one seemed

to have noticed.


When I saw

the banged up car

this morning,

pulling in to what

is usually my spot

in the group parking structure,

I had only one thought,

that the car,

looked like my father’s

from my middle childhood.


I remember that car.

Before it was his,

it was my mother’s,

and I think it may have been

my uncle’s before that.

It was never mine,

my dad sold it,

yet here was its twin.


This car (like my father’s)

was white.

This car, like mine,

was a little banged up.

But while mine has some

(fixed) troubles

in the front,

this car,

had a visibly

scraped up rear.


I know the driver,

I wish I didn’t,

but I need not

look back

with regret.

I faced my problems

head on.


I was the one

who learned to drive


I had that parking spot


But when I followed,

the car so much

like my father’s,

out of the group parking lot

and into the sun,

I was behind.

When I switched lanes,

I was ahead.


As I emerged from

the parking lot

and into the street,

I saw the sideswipe.


The two cars

hit each other

and neither looked back.

But I looked back.

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