it was a good truck, painted blue

the truck was painted blue,

although

it came

from the factory

white.

rust and dents had gotten

the best

of it.

so why not blue.

it was the color of her eyes

in the summer.

the girl he married.

they tied tin cans to the back

when it left

the church,

heading to Ocean City

for a honeymoon.

it hauled

his life around,

from shared rooms to

apartments,

to different cities,

small towns.

another dog hanging out

the window.

he put ladders on the roof,

made

his living with

the tools stored inside.

something was always rattling

in the back.

he never fixed

the broken mirror,

or the window

with a long thin crack

and the odometer gave up at some

point stuck on

a hundred thousand

and thirty-two.

it was a good

truck.

it was a good life until

it wasn't.