Pontiac 2+2 By Rhonda Waterfall You lean against Your white Pontiac 2+2, A glass of rye in hand The bottle on the hood Behind you. In the distance Snow capped mountains But I do not know Where you are. The 2+2 has a black top, Black leather seats and a silver St. Christopher medallion on the dash. It drives like an iron cannon ball Falling from the sky. Years after the photograph is taken The 2+2 sits parked in the carport With the riding lawnmowers and the Plastic kiddie pool. I am nine and open the door And climb in. It's solid heaviness Like a musty wool blanket. I stay till I hear My name called; I stay till I hear The mice that nest Under the seats. Rhonda Waterfall goes from zero to a hundred in a hurry.

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