They’re sayin’
Soon it’ll be seventy degrees
When it is
I’m gunna put on faded Levi’s
And a T-shirt
A white one like Fonzie’s
No, like Springsteen’s
Yeah
I’m gunna back out a car
An old one
With squared corners
Chrome bumpers
And round headlights
I’ll back it out
And then back it in
Park it right there on the driveway
I’ll walk over to the brick house
To the metal spindle with the garden hose
I’ll pull it and feel it unroll
I’ll fill a plastic bucket with water
And soap
And go at the car with a sponge
Irregular shaped and brown
Holes of different sizes
A real sponge
The kind that used to be alive
And once I’ve sudsed off all the dirt
And wrung it into the bucket
I’ll turn the hose on the car
Spray off the suds
And expose the shining, metallic, tiny flakes
Fixed underneath the glossy green
And last,
I’ll take the chamois to it
It was once alive like the sponge
Or on something alive
And when night comes
I’m gunna swing open the heavy, metal door
And slide in
Onto the leather bench seat
I’ll put in the key, and turn it
And give her some gas
Twist on the radio
And roll down the window
Then reach behind the steering wheel
And click down the shifter
I’ll ease off the brake
And roll onto the side street
Turn right, and
Drive
Out into the night
Like in some Springsteen song
Jim's Writing 