Papa’s Car
On Fridays in Venice
Papa had custody
Of the two boys 3 and 8
He’d park his car
In front of the house
Then collect the children
And their action figures
Iron Man, Hell Boy, an
Array of Transformers
The car, with its self-contained
Messes, the boys, safe, intact
Could do anything, eat
Cheerios, have fights
With the crumbs. The windows
Sealed from the gang streets
Where cars drove by, the homeless
Pushing grocery carts walked
Past as if the threesome in the parked
Car was not there. Like an invisible
Cloak. They looked at the blonde
Skateboarder, a man carrying a lawn chair
Then Papa turned classical
Music on the car’s radio.
He described Japanese
Horror films, Godzilla
Is attacking Tokyo
Now, he said, he’s trampling
Down the sidewalk
He’s eating cement and
In and Out burgers
Godzilla is picking off skyscrapers
With his green paws.
Millicent
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