My dad, he owned a car like this.
He loved that little “bug”.
And I can still recall the day
He bought it.

My world is laden now, with things:
For everything’s connected;
Like all the ghosts I see,
These can’t be spotted.

I push a basket through a store,
And still hear tiny children:
Though they’re adults, and
Moved on up their tiers —

And sometimes, that small voice is mine.
Just standing in a showroom,
While my dad buys a car
He’ll love

For years