Send me some nice young couple
With a toddler, or a baby on the way
I may even let them talk me down
Not some saggy-pants hipster
With metal in his face
Or I’ll find new ways to raise my price
Let this car haul groceries
And students of piano
Not some screaming late-night teens
Those new parents will try as I did
(with the same limited success)
To keep the seats from growing sticky
And to defeat the rising tide
Of cracker crumbs and toys from Happy Meals
That boy though, who will not meet my eyes
Who would not think to call me sir
Will spill beer on the upholstery
Where, just yesterday it seems
An overturned juice box
Spelled disaster
I cleaned it one last time
Folding down the seats and vacuuming beneath them
And found myself an archeologist
Of my own family history
A cheddar goldfish
Petrified, and rimed with fuzz
A penny and a marble
Each artifacts of its particular age
Our family history
Spelled out in layers of debris
Disappeared into the vacuum cleaner
But resides forever in my mind
That bright new couple
May think me a fool for giving them my car
But it’s the price I gladly pay
Slave as I am, to memory

Copyright by Steven Givler. 
Used with the author’s permission.