herman harding showed me his truck today
in the muggy high school parking lot
in the sweltering sun
that could easily set my still temperament ablaze.
"she calls it the **** wagon."
he told me.
"she calls mine the firestarter."
i told him; he gave me a look.
"surprised?" i asked.

"so what do you think?"

"it's a battered wife."

"what the hell does that mean?"

"all bruised and broken down,
probably only runs because
you give it gas."

"it's a hand-me-down, okay?
so am i giving you a ride home,
or what?"

i crawled in the **** wagon.
"i should be getting my license soon."

"that's nice."
herman seemed uneasy.

"yep, i'll be driving by next school year."

"that's nice."

the truck had green seats
and a yellow dashboard.
obviously replaced.

approaching the highway,
i opened the glove compartment-
insurance information.
"you're telling me you bought insurance
for this *******?"

"why should you care?"

"i'm just wondering,
seems like a waste of money."

almost home,
i flip down the sun visor-
down flutter a couple of pictures of her
that shouldn't have been taken.
i flip the sun visor back up,
take a look at the photos,
and deposit them in the glovebox.
"tell me, herman:
do you like getting hand-me-downs?"

"get out of the truck."