We had this car which brown colour reminded me of hazel nuts
or my daily chocolate cup – yet slightly lighter, remember?
More like the puddles of water
crowding the paths around the hood.
The various patches erosion carved each time it rained
down over this green landscape.
The car was square just like the one in a child’s sketch
with an aerial sticking out
looking like some uncanny branch
a mark of exclamation speech
a blade of tin
aluminium or steel.
My dad drove that car everyday
to go to work,
and we also climbed into it – the four of us – the family
when we had to meet the grannies.
Going up there in Bray county
also meant visiting the cemeteries.
This car I loathed so much then became
my best of friends, my only need
for there was nothing I detested more than
stepping in the damp Norman weather
to wander in the alleys around the cold, dark marble stones
marked with the scary faces
and covering the bodies of
dead people I did not even know.