poem

Ventura

It’s you and me, on ventura highway, in a big ole station wagon with long wooden panels on the sides. There are a couple of surfboards strapped to the roof: a light yellow one, and a dark blue one with a bunch of wear on the bottom. It’s 1964.

The blue one was your dad’s. He has lived in a lot of places, in a lot of military bases. Stations with the Navy. He picked up surfing as a way to pass the time while he waited to get back home to you.

The route just opened up a few years ago and we’re driving along the summer asphalt. Our dog, a smiling golden with real long hair, has his muzzle out the car window. He’s eating up the breeze that’s tinged with the scent of orange trees. We’re going somewhere nice. The sun is out and we decided to take a vacation somewhere. Somewhere nice.

Advertisements
Standard

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s