They seemed like jolly tunes

 

            I’d never heard my mother

            Sing their kind before –

            In fact, except for lullabies

            That ended years before when I was small

            She never sang

 

            The man behind the wheel

            Joined in, but from the back seat

            I could see his eyes were seeing stars

            Whenever he would glance at me,

            And at a stop sign or a light

            His knuckles would grow whiter

            Than my mother’s throat

 

            He let his right hand drift

            Across the armrest when he floored it

            On the open road and then

            My mom began another song

            And this went on and on

            Until we finally reached home

 

            We hung around outside the door,

            My mom and I, which gave me time

            To notice stuff like dirt beneath a fingernail

            Whenever he would strike a match

            And suck a cigarette

 

            I never can explain just how

            These memories come drifting up

 

            Maybe they’re like smoke

            Beginning furtively in flame

            From under desiccated leaf

            To steal a passage to my breath

 

            Or maybe it was gazing at the length

            Of you in nakedness,

            Your limbs a beacon in the night

            To welcome and to warn, even in sleep,

            That I recalled the dual nature of

            Most everything