The Lincoln Continental
Saturdays like clockwork
The gold-colored Lincoln Continental
Stood ready like a behaved dog, ready for grooming.
Sometimes the sky clouded over like a sad groom
Whose bride escaped before the nuptials.
Sometimes a blue sky greeted it
Like a resplendent ocean bursting at the seams with life.
Sometimes the sky was a mixed bag of tricks
Playful children playing hide and go seek.
Rainouts had to wait an extra day
Until the matador was ready as a picador to dispel the week of dirt.
He came out shorted and sandled ready to do battle
While the neighbors marveled with their dark glasses on at an impending nova.
The Lincoln Continental purred with anticipation
Clad only in the thin layer of soot and green tree powder
He attacked it with gusto.
Water cascaded over its sides like a delicious fountain
a Trevi of water and bubbled soap laved the errant child.
The artist at work until the Lincoln shined like a fount of words
Cascading from gleeful rubicund lips and neighbors cheering.
Week after week, when finally the Lincoln stood alone
Outside gathering its weekly dust.
He made a sweeping effort once in a while
And then he vanished into an urn swept up into a sea of his own cleanliness.
The Lincoln was sold
He was forgotten.
Sy Roth looks at both sides now and finds that there is humor on the other side. The world is a sprightly nymph so he keeps up with the bouncing ball and out comes a song.
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