The Aggressively Cheap Car
Who said that love could not be born out of the
backseat of a beat up yellow Volkswagen Beetle
circa 1961, as it cruises down EDSA
and swerves from lane to lane
like a slow dying turtle that sputters out gas?
These storytellers don't know the legend
of the map at the back of your hand
and the kisses I mistakenly lay on your closed eyes,
because of the rocks and the speed bumps and the yellowing gutter
that reflected stars more telling than Van Gogh could imagine.
What do they know of the whispered sighs from you
as you lifted your shoulders in a half-shrug
and shifted to let your head rest against my shoulder,
I felt I was created for one sole purpose to sit as your prop
as I whispered “I love you” in the same breath and lull
as John Lennon's “Imagine” being sung in the bar,
both of which could not permeate your (un)consciousness.