When I borrowed the keys
to the dead man’s truck,
I drove into town
and ordered a sandwich.
Get out of here, he’d said,
smiling through
his snow white beard.
God, that sandwich
tasted good
after all those silent days—
the blandness of the turkey
and the sweetness of the bread.
God, I loved driving
that rusty old Toyota,
rattling down
the brilliant shore.
The endless ocean.
The creamy waves.
There must be billions
of miles
on that engine.