A white minivan is parked in front of the duplex where I live. It has not moved from that spot, as far as I can tell, in many weeks. This invites multiple questions about the owner and the vehicle itself.
Does the minivan need repairs?
Did the owner abandon the vehicle?
Has a sinister fate befallen the owner?
One solitary vehicle is enough to get the wheels of your mind turning. Humans are hardwired to solve mysteries. Every question needs an answer. Sometimes, the answer is a simple and straightforward one. Other times, it sends us down a life-altering inescapable rabbit hole.
In my case, a seemingly abandoned vehicle in front of my residence serves as a perfect metaphor for my latest poem.
One lonely vehicle parked along a quiet street. A forgotten statue made from rusted metal and cracked, flaked paint. Forever rooted in one spot. Mimicking nearby trees. A bulky magnet for leaves. Fading colors of autumn splashed over a white canvas. An engine has ceased to roar. Tires no longer spin. Torn and faded seats. Dusty windows on every side. No map for the road ahead. For sale by owner? An inaccessible exit ramp stuck in a rearview mirror. High mileage adventures lost in a memory scrapyard. A car without a driver. Fate and time stripped away purpose and function. Reasons for existence trapped on a directionless road.
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