Riding Shotgun

Ride with me.
C’mon.
The Cadillac is a Fleetwood
She said she could
You said you would
And there I stood.

Thinking the trunk could fit
That it could fit
That I could fit
That it would all fit.
It was supposed to be big enough.
The trunk that is.
It was all supposed to be big enough.
Elevator flow.
Electric touch.
The trunk was big enough
To fit our stuff.

But our stuff
Was heavy.
Sometimes you fit
Sometimes you fit
But that doesn’t mean it moves.
Stuff it all in
Rear view mirror
Blind to the windshield
It’s a Cadillac.
It’s supposed to all fit
Get in
It’s not a funeral
But a procession
Drifting through the plankton
Tangled at the ankles by salamanders

Life is good.
As long as all the heavy stuff is in the trunk.

{Word to anyone who ever deals with depression and has seen what the inside of what a barrel of a gun looks like.
Get in and ride with me. I’ve been there and back}

Trunk Music.