He drove it there to rust,
to free it like it was a stallion
that could not be tamed.
His youth had been lived
in four wheel drive
and whiskey shots.
The old truck had seen it all,
first kisses, lost virginity,
tears from losing a brother in Iraq.
It was his mobile confession booth
where only he, God, and the upholstery
knew the sins of a Saturday night.
He couldn’t let it end up in a junk yard.
to be picked apart by wrenched vultures
with no respect for its history.
This field on his grandfather’s farm
with tall grass and east Texas sun
would be his truck’s final resting place.
He knew he couldn’t, wouldn’t come back.
to see it decay into tin metal bones.
It was time to let go and move on.
©Susie Clevenger 2012
Today's Challenge at Real Toads was to use
one of Shanyn Silinski's photographs
for inspiration to create a written work for the Sunday Challenge.
You can find more of Shanyn's beautiful photography at