PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

In the beginning, all I knew about

the Rockwell boy was what the

garage man told me,

said he was always "flirtin' the

girls" and couldn't get his work

done, and drank too

much.



He was leaning on the hood of a

red convertible when I met him

the first time,

had seen him around for years,

since I was a kid;

he was better looking when I

got older.



How's it goin', kid? He nodded and

offered me a stick of spearmint,

which I deemed an invitation.

I asked how come he was always

leaning on that car and daydreaming.

"Dreaming about jazz and goin' to

Paris," he said.

~

We didn't make it to Paris that summer

but we made it to Miami; just as

glamorous, I thought,

the wind against our faces as

we drove down the coast

in that shiny red

convertible.



That Rockwell boy was somthing

when he was sober.