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Rated: · Poetry · Experience · #1520529
Just a little girls memory of her dad.
Night Ride


I dislike milk.
Don’t laugh I mean it.
That thick texture that coats my tongue
Covering my sensitive pallet, dulling it.
When it was too hot it would spoil;
Become ugly and foreign
Just when you most needed relief.

But there was this one time,
It was so long ago when daddy and I
Used to ride out into the night.
The air wasn’t hot but I was warm.
On the passenger side of the 57’ Chevy
Layla’s lost lover talking through the strings.
Those strings, the distorted sound in the cab,
I was so lost in those chords and melodies.
My mind working to memorize the lyrics
As they sang on by, the words lost in translation.
Each whine and reverb stripping away the
Clinging film of the day leaving me vibrant.
Clean, refreshed, all those words and then some.

He handed me a mug that filled my hands,
My eyes were large, I could feel them grow,
As I looked up into my father’s eyes.
Did I look away to take that first swallow?
I don’t remember much, not even that first suck,
Or the icy blast as the leche filled my mouth
I didn’t notice the taste, not then, not hours later.
It felt good a subtle contrast to my comfort.
With hazel eyes I knew the world differently.

“ I get off on 57’s Chevy's”

My heart beat, as does my tired eyes.

“And I get off on screaming guitars”

I felt heavy when I slumped against him.

“Like the way it hits me, every time it hits me”

An emptiness wrapped in my arms
Safe, sated, warm, draped in this moment
A tiny voice that doesn’t belong to me
Off beat and off key singing….

“I’ve got a rock and roll, I’ve got a rock and roll heart.”
© Copyright 2009 Minerva Hana (minerva_hana at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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