dreaming in color

A noise in the distance grabs my attention for a fraction of a second,
a constant rumbling fading into the background
a brief, instantly passing thought flashes across my consciousness
and then it’s gone and I return to the present reality before me
the cool vinyl seats of my father’s pristine,
aging pickup truck against my hands is so real

He sits, driver seat, driving,
smoothly shifting the four-speed manual,
his left foot never reaching for the clutch
I always meant to ask him to teach me that,
how to shift sans-clutch
I ask him now, and all he can say is he’s sorry
My brow knits in confusion, and as I open my mouth to ask why,
a random thought crosses before me,
a warm feeling of contentment, of happiness
Closing my mouth I sit silent,
soaking up the warmth, smiling

I couldn't tell you what time of the year it is,
it seems to change between the season,
winter to spring, spring to summer and so on
The occasional bump on the two lane country road
rattles the loose change in the ash tray

I think of the trips to the family farm
outside small-town Iowa when I was younger
My mouth firing away a million questions
about every piece of farm equipment we passed
my father smiling and answering each one
It was the same truck,
built in a time when trucks were for work
The kind that had the little rotating windows
the larger golf-tee shaped locks
perfectly made to be opened with a bent wire clothes hanger…