I close my eyes and I can still see him
behind the wheel of a green Ď35 Ford,
his grey Fedora tilted just so,
a suggestion of debonair,
both hands thumbs up on the wheel,
a lifetime habit learned from herding
gravel trucks with primitive steering
across the rough early roads of the plains.
But most of all, I can see his smile,
the easy grin of a man at home
behind the wheel, his view of the world
panoramic, a great rolling vista,
humming to himself and smiling,
scrutinizing the standstill world
as if it were his feudal manor,
his throne the driverís seat.