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His Wheels - Printable Version

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His Wheels - dukealien - 03-09-2025

His Wheels


My father drives a white Tesla.
I know because I saw it
in a dream–

I had to sign for it
before he could drive away
across a frosted sea of glass.

That must be what they’re giving out
these days
instead of wings.


RE: His Wheels - Mark A Becker - 03-09-2025

(03-09-2025, 06:25 AM)dukealien Wrote:  His Wheels


My father drives a white Tesla.
I know because I saw it
in a dream–

I had to sign for it
before he could drive away
across a frosted sea of glass. great image

That must be what they’re giving out
these days
instead of wings. perfect ending
well, Duke, ya done 'im proud.
This is a poignant, yet subtle piece; understated.
The build up to the final stanza works very well.

I wish your father a smooth ride driving along that heavenly highway.
... Mark


RE: His Wheels - busker - 03-10-2025

(03-09-2025, 06:25 AM)dukealien Wrote:  His Wheels


My father drives a white Tesla.
I know because I saw it
in a dream–

I had to sign for it
before he could drive away
across a frosted sea of glass.

That must be what they’re giving out
these days
instead of wings.
I like the juxtaposition of a white car with the traditional image of white winged horses
The frosted sea of glass image is lovely

It's an unobtrusive little poem that leaves an impact. Nice one.


RE: His Wheels - rowens - 03-10-2025

I see that this is a poem about entitlement that you have had to sign for.
Others' entitlement.
That you have to sign up for them and you.


RE: His Wheels - carahmellow - 03-11-2025

I love this piece! It's very thoughtful and had me re-reading and thinking about it for a while, which makes for a strong poem.


RE: His Wheels - dukealien - 03-11-2025

Thanks for all the comments!  Dreams, you never know what you're getting...

(03-10-2025, 12:43 PM)rowens Wrote:  I see that this is a poem about entitlement that you have had to sign for.
Others' entitlement.
That you have to sign up for them and you.
That was one aspect of this dream that made me think (afterward, of course):  do the dead depend on us in some way, like minor gods we chuckle about fading away when they lose their last believers?  Signing for Dad's car (now I think about it) would be almost like buying the indulgences Martin Luther was so vexed about.  Or Egyptian grave goods, for use of the deceased.

(The other thing, which worried me after I woke up but before I realized it  had been a dream - strange state! - was that the paper I signed was the typical long, flimsy document in very fine print and I hadn't read it at all.)