Left to Rust

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 

Sunflower Shan and Mystic Mom
dVerse Poets Pub ~ Open Link Night ~ Week 42