The car's interior
wraps me in the smell of
new warm leather

a memory is triggered

I'm holding my hand flat
shielding eye's from
sun's evening glare
it reflects off a polished
chromed bumper

wolsley/vanden plas
immortalized in shiny
metallic lettering
stands proud, against an
olive green background of
buffed perfection

a loose skinned hand
mottled with liver spots
presses down the
silver handle
a rear door opens
I climb onto a
back seat that
stretches out before me
stitched leather panels
hot to hands and knees
the door clunks shut
behind me

one of them switches the
radio on
the conversation
still audible
talk of foster parent's
adoption
better life
spoken in whispers

two adults in front
oblivious to me

fingering a worn marble
in my pants pocket
I turn my face
let cheek rest
against smooth
tanned hide
breathe deep
and feel
a young boys breast
expel a silent sob

William Marsland