The Blue '78 Chevy Nova

In Joe's junkyard,
along the icy curves
of 611, a dried corsage,
now a light shade of gray,
crumbles on the black seat
of the crushed blue '78 Nova
as though placed there purposely
among the blood stained glass
which glitters like a shattered
diamond of a broken engagement.

A green tinted bottle of no name
champagne lies half empty
on the decaying car floor,
reflects light from the setting sun
as it shines through the torn off door.
Grass and weeds grow over the car,
bury it in a mound of flowering
red and white wildflowers.

A delicate white shoe,
speckled with crimson spots,
is home to a brown field mouse
who made her nest with white
taffeta shreds and shards
of a matching cummerbund.

In the curve of the bent steering wheel
a yellow and black spider knits
his web of sticky threads to catch
flies and gnats before they can taste
the death that will later linger
like the smell of alcohol
clinging to the shell
of the blue '78 Chevy.

Copyright ©2005 by Valerie Noir