each car is a story;
every story starts with a dream
like children,
born of passions lost to the moment
how came they each to be here?
each came by a different set of roads, we know –
for there was a someone
or someone(s)
for whom, on a certain day,
the purchase of this specific car
was the whole of their concerns
and it was new
and choice was new, and paramount –
all delivered back
in the time of dreams
before the years pummeled these vehicles
into what we see now
ore mined one place
parts manufactured somewhere else
car built
shipped
sold
gas pumped in stations in
who knows how many towns
what conversations took place in this car
what journeys were undertaken
is this place a reminder of human vanity
or
a testament of human strength in frailty?
cars are just things,
but
things are
kind of important —
the wind is blowing harder now
and i’m looking as though
i fit right in here
back in the time
of dreams
To share is human:
