Al Loves Lucy
It says so
on his Chevrolet pick-up
with the pass-through window & the dog
in the bed. A special job,
no spray paint, it cost Al some for the Delux.
Those perfect Gothic letters on the truck
make me ache to know it all, why he loves her,
where, how much he does it and when.
Is it night?
Does he reach across the seat
to touch her, whisper Honey? Like me,
does he wonder if she loves him back?
I imagine his love sharp as he flips the gate
to load a sack of concrete, him
stunned by lust on his way to the Sears or when
he stops by Friendly Liquor for a pint, a case.
But Al loves
Lucy most when he's driving fast
down county back roads, kicking gravel,
not quite home, that beer balanced beside him
on the seat, like a girl he could really get next to,
one he hasn't met yet, one he hasn't named.
