..................................................................................................................................................
The Poetry Of.
Al Ferber...............................................
Old Red Carman Ghia
Came swinging around the corner in my
old red Carman Ghia with both doors
flung open, dish rags hanging from the
convertible top, and damned if the breaks
didn't give out when I tried to stop at
a traffic light forcing the hand break into
action and a hard right turn to avoid traffic.
80% of the body composed of silly putty
so beat up I never had to lock the doors
almost killed me more than once but I miss
it like every girl who ever broke my heart.
Three Years Since
(for my father)
Has life with us become an echo
in your chamber
just beyond the reach of your ear?
Do you recede so quickly into time
the words I send, beyond the speed
of wind, can never catch you
in a state of momentary rest?
I do not know the shape, the where
of your dominion and yet I speak
to you each night, almost as though
death had not the power to separate
the bond between us.
As a young boy I was drawn
instinctively to rust and ruin:
the broken window
the unlocked gate
the junk yard
and the trash heap
the ruins of a factory
abandoned farms -
the rusting tractors
stopped in mid-task
in long neglected fields
the shells of houses in the city
the silent histories they held.
And now that I am older, I find
that none of that has changed.
