Thursday, January 27, 2022

New Poetry by Danielle McMahon










Pickup Truck

Father,
Some nights I sneak
into the garage to sit 
in the passenger’s seat

of your old pickup truck
and dream of the highway on a summer’s

night: the green glow of the dashboard,
the lullaby of your voice
singing softly to yourself

as if underwater
as if timeless

the silver now has dulled to gray,
slick surface wounded with rust 
and the last time

you turned the key
the engine choked on its own
death rattle

but some nights I see the moons
of your fingerprints on the dust
of the steering wheel

and I understand
what you meant 
that night in the Carolina’s

we capsized in a roadside abyss
and you rocked the grounded wheels til
the airborne pitched dirt again:

Stay.  Wait.


- © Danielle Mcmahon 2022


Danielle McMahon’s poems have appeared in Spinning Jenny (Issue 9) and Wicked Alice (Fall 2007), under her maiden name.




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