Some Saturdays My Father Had to Work 

Some Saturdays my father had to work          half a day
and he’d ask me along          just me no brothers.
We went in the green plymouth          the one
with the stiff flannel seats that made the backs of my legs burn.
Had a radio          songs I can’t sing you now
but I hear the commercials loud and clear          earl scheib
al jarvis          wallichs music city          troy troy
what a joy          pep boys          lubes & shocks & transmissions.
I’d reach down and push my hand around          changing
the nap of the fabric.
He switched lanes
like a jackrabbit.          I believed he knew for miles ahead
what the traffic was doing.          I believed
we got to places faster than anyone
all the way to soto st. to what he called the plants.
Billboard billboard billboard.
Past farmer john’s          his pigs painted in a great escape
on the fence around the slaughter house
and then my favorite          the white rock soda girl.
How perfect the small erect wings on her back.
She sat on her stone surrounded by water
peering over LA          peering over industry
and right into our car.

Terryl Hunter