"volvo" poems
i woke up today to the world
drinking tea and chaos,
as if nothing has changed,
like the ground hasn't collided and
caused the water to rise or the
fact that the government just may not
care about us at all.
the debt we are in could last us a century,
and i'm not talkin' about the government funds,
i'm worried about how luck is never on our side
of the dead green grass but,
we can get through this.
i've never been one for religion, so
when i catch myself saying that i have faith,
it's feels like marbles in my mouth and
the glass is melting to form
a sculpture of how we could be
little or we could be big,
but only time will tell in between the seconds,
and that moment we know which we are,
i'll turn to you and tell you if the faith
is still crashing on my bad days
and i hope you'll stick around if it isn't.
if you don't stay, the earth may quake
close to a 8.5 and it will go down in history of
how difficult it was to piece back
my grounds.
so even if the world stops spinning,
i'll still spin it for you like when you used to pay
for my admission and walk me to my doorstep,
like there was nothing more dangerous
than leaving traces of my footsteps across my dewy
lawn.
i'll spin it like the beer bottle with the foam
settling at the bottom, just so i can see
something fluid move because
sometimes being fluid is more beautiful than being
solid since solidity only has one shape.
so once you tell me that you won't be there to spin my bad days
to good,
i'll leave you alone, like i would the dead
carcass of the deer we hit two days ago in your rusty
volvo but don't be surprised if you ever
wonder if i dream about you
and when the answer is
only every once
in a
while.
Mar 11, 2011
Mar 11, 2011 at 6:08 AM UTC
There you were on your camo Kawasaki
Riding leathers on, in racing position
Pacing the metallic beige Subaru
Pacing the vintage blue Volvo
Pacing me, in the back seat,
Hungover.
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 2:46 PM UTC
I wrote your sweet name in the glistening snow
I drank too much beer and just had to go
it's your weddin' reception
and I thought Fred should know
that I nailed you last week in my 86 Volvo
Good thing I drank that 12 pack of Schlitz
cause the beer ya'll servin'
gives me the sh-ts
I know it's a tad sloppy
but if I get on my knees
I may **** icicles
cause my doodads'l freeze!
Now the world knows that the ****** did lie
will ya cross the 'T' Billy Bob?
I done ****** myself dry
Happy Honeymoon Fred and your two timin' *****
Don't forget to tell him 'bout Bubba and Frank?
Burp! ....somebody catch me!!!
Mar 25, 2018
Mar 25, 2018 at 4:04 PM UTC
People with plastic smiles
wave to me over their
white picket fences
I avoid their gaze
but they just smile as I drive
past
Back and froth
twice a day
every day
at minimum
I fear their cheerful greetings
there invitations to barbecues and
parties where I'll only be singled
out
I do not need the hive mind,
the men who we envision
in dark suits with red
eyes but who are really
just you and us down deep
inside
I drive by the
face of evil every
day
And as it chuckles
and laughs as I drive
by in my old beat-up
Volvo I avoid looking into
the empty-pits where
a soul is supposed to
be
Mar 9, 2011
Mar 9, 2011 at 5:50 AM UTC
what is death? a
middle-aged man
in a volvo, collecting
payments and
favors?
i met him once on
his road trip from
new york to
california. i imagined
death streaking across
america, the way the
ground shakes and
swallows its people.
i didn't ask him anything.
i was afraid of his answers
but he keeps files on every
living being and sorts through
them when he gets bored,
picking people off like flies.
i figured he had heard
about the likes of me
before.
is death the object of a
mid-life crisis for a god
who got a little too
close to the sun and
got his feelings hurt?
maybe that is the
answer after
all.
he left me at a truck stop
off the interstate
in anniston, alabama.
i didn't catch his name,
but i think we'll be
introduced again
real soon.
Dec 17, 2011
Dec 17, 2011 at 6:39 PM UTC
after one last summer of cottages, palm-beers floating on the lake,
faceplanting into the waves while trying to kneeboard,
badly-planned but perfectly-timed trips to toronto for shows
(getting kurt viled)
the family casa (host of
many ragers and teenage kicks) was sold and georgian bay was no longer home.
my parents bought a new truck and moved what was
once 15 quesnelle drive
down to cape breton island, three quarter million in pocket
and i,
i had a resurgence of old feelings towards a girl i won't name
brought on by our rekindled friendship after the death
of my best friend, (nothin' helped me get thru those months
quite like that smile)
and after an embarrassing night spent having various altercations
(fisticuffs)
with a young birch tree behind my pal's place
i hopped in my '03 volvo and sped west like that old man once told
dean to do.
dust flying thru the open windows and my split knuckles
smilin' at the fat old sun.
that summer the bookstore,
where i bought so many weathered novels, died and
the man who was its overseer, with whom i spent so many evenings philosophizing over cups of joe in the closed-up shop ,
sort of faded away; i'd see him thursdays at the study sipping whatever he drank there in the corner and always felt too bad
about the closing of cottage books, ashamed in a word, to
ever go over and buy the guy a beer.
still don't know why.
guess i'm a bit of a *****
that drive out west was good. made 10 mixes in addition to CDs
i already had and slept on the highway side and stopped
where ever the hell i wanted to stop. smoked cigars while blazing over the pavement with my life in the backseat at 120 km/h
not knowing how to feel,
but doing alright.
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 1:06 AM UTC
Do you remember that day
We go in your old Volvo after class
And drove west out into west of nowhere
Passing a museum about dinosaurs
And their place in western Mass.
Until we found that old, small town
That belonged in another era,
With small houses, and small streets
And signs on the doors giving various history degrees.
The music you played didn’t fit
With the scenes we passed,
Children on bikes that laughed at us
As we stared down their streets
Hands over eyes like explorers
Notebooks out and ready like cartographers
Pens tips chewed in the ends of our mouths
Like the writers we wanted to be.
And It was all fun and games
Until we had to turn around,
In that corn field of all places,
That seemed to never end,
Because it was fall and the corn stalks yellowed
And I imagined they would have crunched under our feet
In the cool autumn air
I breathed through the open window.
You went deer-in-the-headlights
As some farmer came by in his truck
And you started joking
-Until fear start creeping-
“This is the end for us,”
Because it looked like something from a film
Where two college kids die alone in a cornfield,
****** unsolved
Scythe found with no prints
The beginning of a bad movie script.
But we lived,
Because he gave us directions back home
Back to route 93
Or 94, or 270
Where we parted for one of our final times
Before you left for the big city,
Losing this memory to history
Like all those little houses
And all their little families.
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 1:11 AM UTC
First poem to Tina as my lover no more.
I.
Three years and eight months.
My closest. My one.
She'd stayed through madness
Enough.
I am a man of demons.
As I slayed the last one
I turned to see her having fallen
For the blow
As well.
Women and children
Die first.
II.
We cry. We kiss and cry.
Make love crying.
Laugh crying.
Leaving streaks on her back
Of salty regret
As I kiss her every single
Detail farewell.
How can gratitude for love
Hurt like being hated
By a loved
One?
III.
I take full responsibility.
Never raised a hand, but spoke
Hard and disgusting
Bottled anger.
Her leaving makes it
Poetry; lends meaning.
I'll drink again, but the drunk
Demon
Is dead.
IVa.
Today I'll come home
And forget to cook
For just one.
That Volvo will never
Come speeding down the
Gravel road again containing
Other than an ex
Coming to collect
More things that are no
Longer
Ours.
IVb.
No longer mine. I say like all
Others in grief: *This pain
Is new to me.*
I embrace it on the floor
Holding her sweater
That I burned a little
Warming it on the stove for
Her in winter.
Then it's into the box
With it.
I'll leave a tear on her every
Garment, thanking for
The love and passion
They held within.
V.
I look up at skies as blue
As they come.
I will live here alone.
Thanking for all the beauty,
And all we learned from
What wasn't.
All is how it should be.
This was our road to
Travel together.
Be well. Be loved. Be safe.
You owe me nothing.
Be happy for this;
There's growth in it.
You are no longer my
Girlfriend, but you'll
Always be my
Girl.
"Together" was our word.
To Get Her was
My most gracious gift
Since Life.
Now let me cry
Like a child lost.
Then I'll move on,
Being neither.
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 12:29 AM UTC
We used to talk about
going
to Montana--escaping it all,
building a log cabin and
making a garden. We were
going to hunt and fish for
food--make rugs and
hats from the fur.
But look at us now.
You live in the
city and drive a Volvo.
Goldfish in a glass bowl.
You even taught your
cat to walk on
a leash.
Can you see the
sky with all the smog?
I'm not any better.
Living under the bridge;
the only hunting I do is
for cans, the rare and
illusive
aluminum nickel, so that
I can buy *****
I walk down to the
river's edge and look up at
the expansive sky.
I close my eyes.
And when I open them, baby,
we're in Montana.
Aug 4, 2024
Aug 4, 2024 at 2:40 PM UTC
the only jeans with holes,
the polo shirt with "passionate peach" paint
from the kitchen remodel she wanted, the yard work shoes
these were the raiments he chose for his final drive, the one in "park"
in the garage, with the engine idling, its humming a monotonous lullaby
sung by compliant pistons
he wandered through the house
like a sated forager, looking at everything, for nothing,
old pictures on the walls--children, parents, one of himself,
the Yale mortar board tilting on a face who could
have been a stranger, and was, that last afternoon
books on shelves, mostly read, their stories now forgotten
even Moby **** his favorite--eight silent vertical letters
replacing a white whale he relentlessly pursued with Ahab
a sink with one small plate and the disposal's shining ring,
the burial ground for his last, uneaten meal
those were the visions he chose
before writing his notorious note,
"BYE, ALL MY PAPERS ARE IN THE ROLL TOP"
taking the keys from the peg, and taking his final steps
into the cluttered gray garage, to his 2011 Volvo
when some hand turned the key,
igniting a welcoming flame, a few intrusive notes
of a Beatles song came through the six speaking speakers
yanking something in his gut, pulling his hand
to the handle to open the door, to return to the house,
the pictures, the stories on the walls, but the other,
the right hand, ejected the CD, rejecting the beguiling voices
that would have him stay, for another dull, deaf day
he folded his hands in his lap,
allowed his chin to rest on his chest
where his eyes could see the holes in his threadbare denim
taking solace in the fact that he had chosen the right clothes
so those still in the house, yet in the blur called life
would have only whole and clean reminders of him
to fold neatly, and leave on the porch
for the Salvation Army
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 2:11 PM UTC
The cat
followed me
in the door
last muggy night.
on a return trip
from a beer run,
Kurt heard a yowl
as screaming as any hurt guitar,
and looked under his volvo
into the far dark.
Two canary eyes
leered.
Then,
slinking,
the canary eyes
moved.
And this cat
rubbed its body,
the length of its shivering spine
along my
small shins.
And that cat
followed me
in.
Oct 3, 2012
Oct 3, 2012 at 8:20 PM UTC
I thought,
“her nail polish is chipping”
that one I bought her
when we got lost in rite aid
and she stole a bottle of wine
and offered me my first line
in the back of Robby’s Volvo.
Her nail polish is chipping
and she’s digging the polish into my chest
I hear her breathing moisten
and I close my eyes to her light
as if it hurts to look at her straight.
No one has ever accused me
of being a man
so I sit back and let her lips
make me feel like one.
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 3:20 PM UTC
Like Christmas lights on the lawn in May
We don't belong to each other.
No, not anymore.
I stopped keeping score.
I think your hat is in my sock drawer.
We lit too many candles,
filled too many balloons
before the recorder started
we were singing all the tunes
and I stayed a little later
and you drove too fast for me
now I'm staring at the wreckage
and you're looking for your keys.
I've burned everything we had
And I can see for miles.
Nov 26, 2011
Nov 26, 2011 at 4:13 PM UTC
Your nails stain my skin like Alaska,
grains beaten into my elbows from riverbeds
and the crossings.
“Have a drink with me, my treat.”
I remember you from way back,
listening to Dave Matthews Band
while we emptied out veins in the front
seat of my Volvo.
Revolting, we voted independent and
we decided to never come back to the night
where Alaska was even a possibility.
Jun 17, 2012
Jun 17, 2012 at 6:40 PM UTC
I was on the
down and outs
no money
no girl
and she was
empty as
my wallet
slightly crazed
with a cute face
and the *** was
loud
and distracting
for awhile
but it was empty
too
and I started to
wonder if
this was it
if this was where
all those valiant
dreams of chivalry
and white knights
ended up
in the back of
her two door volvo
pacing thrusts
with the radio
I got out of there quick
told her to find a nice
boy with a nice house
and a nice dog
told her to quit smoking
that pack a day
told her to go back to school
told her a hundred things
she never heard
so now I'm on the
down and out
with no money
no girl
and no ***
here's to chivalry
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 11:22 PM UTC
It's always the bat-shit, rabid dog
crazy ones that will put up a really
good front when you first meet them.
You're always amazed at how normal they appear.
They are intelligent, hold down jobs, drive Volvo's;
maybe they even have children that they
seem to take care of. They pay bills,
celebrate holidays and have houseplants.
They might even have a
dog or a cat, or a sickly looking bird in a cage.
But, just underneath the false facade of
lucid smiles, lurks a whack-job from hell.
They make Sybil and Lizzie Borden look
like Mother Theresa.
If you find yourself with one of these
women, don't confront them, it only
makes matters worse, and could prove deadly.
Just smile and nod, and slowly back out
the door. Don't stop until you see the
Pacific Ocean. Get in and wash yourself off.
Your safer with the sharks and the riptide.
Apr 15, 2020
Apr 15, 2020 at 8:53 AM UTC
My green Volvo perching in pine needles
we make it through the clearing.
The uneven rock greets us
while the boats pass by
trying to make out our figures,
but seeing limbs in all the wrong places.
It was still winter.
Do you remember that?
We thought it was warm out,
but it was just the sun that we hadn’t seen in months.
Your jacket cushioned my head.
We thought the boats knew.
Sep 17, 2012
Sep 17, 2012 at 12:05 AM UTC
In Kansas
the streets and the dog pounds
are always preoccupied
by the rain
and the nights
that seem to cast over
cities
ballroom dance floors
rail road tracks with deer skulls
backyards
apartment draft windows
the nights are tired and lonely
Leola climbs a fence
she climbs the side of the world
of the moon
the voice of god
the chimney puffing old man cigar
and she looks out
over the city
far far away
as if she were a wife
of a sailor
casting her lonely brown eyes out over the sea's tongue
and she sees a tiny boat
tipping side to side
there is a light mist
of either tears or winters fog
Ah,
but the city is far
and her fine leather shoes are
on her feet
Leola is tall
and her eyes are lit by something
something bright and full of sorrow and hope
the roof tops and highways
she wishes for
smoking a leather colored cigarette
and the country side sings
a little river stream
running down by the trees
Leola Leola Leola
we all wait for you
I'm still in my blue Volvo
stereo performing infinity static hum
I fall asleep
Leola
to the dreams
you have
over
roof tops
and chimneys
sea beds
and
a sailors love
lost out at sea
and winter to harsh
to your lips
and your tears
that he can no longer see
are more vibrant
late at night
in the churches front porch
but the door is locked
and a red truck
disappears down the road like the word I love you
lost
on the tip of the drunken tongue.
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 7:58 PM UTC
I'm better now.
It only hurts when
I manage to
Breathe.
I'll help you pack.
Carry to your Volvo.
When you leave,
I'll either wave back or
Throw this stone
When I know you're
Out of
Reach.
You thank me for taking
Things so well.
Remember, only one of us
Stopped loving
The other.
The other
Is still the same. Only pale with
Pain and shortness of breath.
After denial, confusion and
Anger, all that's left is
Character.
Will you scream at the sword
As it turns, or laugh
Carelessly bleeding out?
I'll handle things how I always
Have. Carve my features on
This stone, so my softness won't
Soften you.
I'm more than
Just a straight face,
You know.
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 10:09 AM UTC
She is as far from a morning
Person as her Volvo V70 is from
The speed limit as she drives me
To the riverside bus stop.
Leopard patterned one-piece
With little leopard ears on the
Hood, pilot Ray Bans covering
Eyes as red as her station wagon
And as narrow as her appreciation
Of my pre-5am sense of humour
When I giggle at how those little leopard
Ears bounce along with every
Bump in the road.
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 12:21 AM UTC
Hooded hitchhiker of haunted hours!
(Or haunted houses, as the mainstream would have me believe)
Somewhere between New Mexico and New York the tables must have turned - see, it's not you that's seeking a ride, but me
(If a ride is what the kids are calling such a sweet and final relief these days)
Life is indeed "a highway" but I missed the EXIT HERE when overcome with the sight of your dusty bone-dry thumb creeping out from underneath a solemn black bell
(And they said I slow down for nothing!)
My curiosity intensified when: I glimpsed you behind a hydroplaning semi, just north of the Missouri River: I was going left from the right lane and I shouted to you: "hop in!"
Your blatant denial leaves me wondering...
(do you feel as though you are above me?)
(are there Escalades in the underworld?)
(does a '98 Volvo wagon not convey the utmost message of doom and despair?)
To clarify things, please observe the billboard on your passenger side:
I AM RECKLESS, I AM LETHAL
I AM HALF-BLIND AND SPINNING OUT OF CONTROL
DOING 90 ON AN UNPAVED ROAD
FINGERS DUSTING STEERING WHEEL
TIRES DUSTING DITCHES
(Please keep all hands and feet inside the vehicle at all times - unless you'd rather not)
Oh, robed and rusty reaper!
My consensus is this:
- I will not seek you out, but
- I
- will
- not
- turn
- you
- down
(Our final joyride looms just outside my rearview mirrors and directly inside my stream of consciousness)
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 11:38 PM UTC
Twas the night before Christmas
And all through the house
Not a creature was stirring
Not even a computer mouse
All of the people and pets
Were nestled in bed
Waiting for a fat man
In a flying -reindeer sled
Just as I ventured
To slip off to sleep
A noise -- maybe a clatter
Was heard from the street
I ran to get me a view
Opening the window
I put my head through
Down on the corner
Across from the jail
A fat drunken bearded man
Was singing off key
Merry Christmas to all you boys
I hope ya all make it out without fail
The kettle had just enough money
To make my own flippin bail
I was annoyed so I yelled down
Go home you soppin santa --you stinkin clown
GO HOME-
So the real Santa might actually appear
F*** off you a** hole he yelled back
As he popped open a beer
I am the real santa you **** head
Then he sorta suggested
My reindeer flew off when I was arrested
Mrs. Clause is so cold
Them elves is lucky they don't get molested
But if you're worried ya won't get your gift
Then get your dumba** down here
And give me a lift
Hastily dressing I wondered
If anyone else might have heard
But the way they were snoring
Obviously they heard not a word
Grabbing a jacket I picked up my keys
Went out to take this crazy drunk home
So that he won't freeze
When I finally found him
It way back behind the dumpster
Where he was tossing his cookies
Being eyeballs by two coppers
Who looked like a pair of rookies
"COME ON " I pleaded " lets get you home"
He peered at his wristwatch"sh** he exclaimed
I'm supposed to be delivering gifts in Maine
He clumped into my new Volvo --stinking of *****
"A Volvo" he sneered why couldn't you drive a Ford ..comet
Then he mumbled some words below his stale breath
And my car floated up in the air -- scaring me to death
He yelled out commands as my car shot forward
"Rides pretty nice" he muttttered" but not as nice as a Ford"
"On Volvo .. On Volvo .. On ..oh heck .. Just hook a left
No nonono I mean right
Then he yelled out the window
MERRY(buuurp) CHRISTMAS TO ALL AND TO ALL A GOOD EFFEN
NIGHT. ** ** Cough cough Hoooo!!
Dec 27, 2015
Dec 27, 2015 at 7:36 AM UTC
16 Years Ago-
I was sitting in class when that note arrived-
I looked up at my teacher with a tear in my eye-
He said “Richie, grab your stuff your leaving for the day”
I knew at that moment I would be out of words to say-
I walked to the parking lot and there stood my Dad-
Leaning on his white Volvo looking so sad-
We didn’t say much as we made our way over the hill-
We both knew what was coming-I didn’t think it was real-
We arrived at the hospital and everyone was there-
Your Daughter was pregnant-Your son was scared-
I looked around the room tears were singing like songs-
I reached for my Grandfather’s hand-
He told me “Be strong”-
My dad leaned in and by your bed he was at your side-
For one second longer he told you “open your eyes”-
To look around the room to see us for the last time-to know we love you-
To know its time-
You opened your eyes and I still see them to this day-
You past so fast here are something’s I wish I could say-
I would like to say thank you for all that you did-
Taking care of so much, your brother and your kids-
I know it wasn’t easy and I understand more now-
You went through so much-
I want you to know now-
That everyone is well-
Your son is being a man, and being a friend-
Your daughter is good-Your Grandsons are men-
So another year has come and another year gone-
I’m looking at the sky and because of you I’m smiling all day long-
We miss you-
Richard Itskovich
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 1:38 PM UTC
The first time i brought you to a party
i drank so many ***** sodas that
i could only mumble a barley audible
i wanna go home 3 hours later.
You politely excused the both of us
giving the correct amount of goodbyes
or so I'm told, and you wrapped me up
in your fuzzy coat, picked me up like a baby.
I heard that you laid me down in the backseat
of your 1975 navy blue volvo.
Kissed me on the forehead
and turned on the heat.
You put on my favorite band, and played my favorite song
and drove very safe, checking on me
every 3 light posts.
You brought me back to my apartment
and very respectfully stripped me of my clothes
and replaced them with one of your old t-shirts
and a pair of gym shorts.
Laid me down on my bed
and climbed in with me, pulling the covers
over our bodies. You wrapped you arms
around my drunken skeleton
kissed my shoulder and slept.
But really what happened
was i drank so many ***** sodas
that i didn't see you sneak off with the nymphish
looking redhead. So many vodkas
that i could dream out a gentlemanly situation
and enough alcohol that you could take credit.
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 3:35 PM UTC