third base chevy

the blue chevy was third base.

it sat there for years
on our narrow street.

unmoved, undriven.
one tire flat. the antennae
bent.

the windshield cracked
and seats
apart at the seams.

we never saw it move,
two or three summers in a row.

but it was blue, a peacock blue,
cleaned
by rain
or snow.
still a factory shine to its
curved glow.

third base.
then one day it was gone.

so we found a cardboard box
to flatten

and take its place.
our game went on.