poetry by j matthew waters

angel in my oldsmobile

sometimes my inner workings hesitate
like a sixty-nine cutlass

in the back seat my hopeful angel
looks out half-opened window
elbows on arm rest
chin supported by hands

eyes cast upwards she interprets
unspoken words
as they race past silently
like high-flying clouds

the night sky indicates
low temperatures are inevitable

but who’s to say when autumn
shall begin and end

there comes a point where nobody
really cares when the dead of winter
has finally set in

and as long as I have my angel
inside my winterized oldsmobile
I’m bound to witness
the ides of march again

september two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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4 thoughts on “angel in my oldsmobile

  1. 69 cut/lass … very clever

    so many kinds of cuts this/she could be

  2. We all need an inner angel. I’m glad you have one

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