In his grey Toyota truck
were power tools, dingy jean shorts
and a basketball,
all under a loose, tattered tarp
haphazardly held together like him,
The a man who’s a madrigal song
moving in counterpoint,
elusive, and unaccompanied,
except sometimes when he sang,
“Help! I need somebody,”with me
in the cold, dusty garage
Or when he echoed my giggles
from tickled sides and playground slides
Or when he popped like his nail gun
Completing a quick fix like magic for mom
But then he’d screech like the teakettle,
boil over in puddles,
And retreat back behind the steering wheel
To evaporate as suddenly as he appeared
in his grey Toyota truck.
