Mark Borczon writes

Old cars and memories

Weathered like a mailbox
With hinges just as troubled
Even the back of my head
Is sweating rust
Old trucks and dead friends
Stand on the back fields
Facing the highway
Wearing the price of memory
There is a car for sale
My dad owned before I was born
Back when he was going to
Live forever
It could be mine
For 600 bucks
I might buy it just to see
If he's behind the wheel