“This poem is inspired by Wallace Stevens’ 
Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird. There are a lot of poems that borrow that structure — and here’s one more. This one’s about a car I used to love, a ’64 Dodge Dart. Like most things I have loved, it was loud, unreliable, and hard to let go of.”

I

Among miles of impound lots,   
I wondered which one would have  
my Dodge Dart.   

II

I was of three minds.
My father loved his version.
I loved my Dart. I bought it used for 650.
My partner loved it almost as much.
Did we love it enough to pay the impound fees?

III

The 64 Dodge Dart was sexy 
in 1964, but by the 21^st century 
it was a rusty relic.

IV

A man and a woman   
are one.   
A man and a woman and an old car    
are a disagreement.   

V

I do not know which to prefer,   
the slant six engine,
the push button automatic transmission,
or that it was just like dad’s Plymouth Valiant.   

VI

Icicles filled the long window.   
The heater took forever to warm up
and the defroster blew the best
with the windows open.

VII

O thin men of Tesla,   
why do you frown upon the gas guzzling Dart?   
Is it jealousy? Are you threatened by its barbaric simplicity?
Do you see how much I enjoy standing over her carburetor
screwdriver in hand to give her more air?
I don’t need a computer to talk to her.  

VIII

I know noble accents
and lucid, inescapable rhythms.
And I know, too,   
That the gas guzzling Dart will no longer be 
involved in what the world knows.   

IX

When the Dart flew out of sight,   
It marked the horizon with a cloud of smoke
and left a trail of various fluids.

X

At the sound of the Dart’s slant 6 engine   
cruising through a yellow-red light,   
Even the bawds of euphony   
Would cry out sharply.   

XI

We rode over the bay area
in this sporty classic, hoping the brakes would hold.   
Once, we overtook a Plymouth Valiant
it was a shadow of   
Dad’s pristine automobile and smoke less than we did.   

XII

The river is moving.   
The Dart must be drowning.   

XIII

It was evening all afternoon.   
It was snowing
and it was going to snow.   
The Dart sat silent in the impound lot
I turned the key. She didn’t even choke.
The impound fee 450. I left her there to rest.

This poem was published in San Diego’s Poetry Annual 2014 — 2025

https://sandiegopoetryannual.com/order/free-pdf/