Before I thought I was too grown
to kiss my dad’s cheek goodbye
I’d ride with him to school
in his 53 Chevy pick up
its green paint weathered in places to brown
its cab’s warmth saturated with the coffee
he’d drink from a thick white mug
and park on the floor
next to the long gear stick
he’d shift with such skill
the coffee never spilled
& through the rusted out hole
in the floorboard by my feet
I’d watch the asphalt fly by
as though we rode a magic carpet