My Camaro Lesson

Wait for me
while I write down what I saw today—
modesty and vibrancy,
in a red convertible Camaro. 

It was like one strong fabulous sling
of paint across a newborn canvas—
the wide-open road was his.
He passes me by with top down, shaded eyes, a broad smile,
and a loud tune, at 85 miles per hour. 

The wheelchair’s push bars
were propped on the window ledge—
startled me, widened my eyes, made me smile
for the folded, backseat dreams speeding down Interstate 49. 

And I willed him onward, cheering,
begrudging myself for every thankless word—
every chagrin at the imperfect moments
that held perfection all the while. 

Somehow, then, I even begrudged my own begrudging,
for taking away from his own glorious song.
And I knew, if I could ever know the abandon of the Camaro Man—
I would have everything.