That ‘57 Red Convertible
Dad hated the way she drove
that car. An Isadora Duncan,
long scarf flapping
with devil-may-care
in the breeze.
I sat on a stool next to her,
riding shotgun.
Together we rode searching
for adventure.
Dad stayed home
alone.
2 thoughts on "That ‘57 Red Convertible"
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I’m with Dad staying home. Dying from a scarf is not a stylish way to go.
I had a car that my husband hated, too. It was the only car I ever owned that I felt like it would always so what I wanted it to do. I still miss it.