Saturday, June 06, 2015

The Back Seat Of My Car - Paul McCartney (1971)

 
 

 
 
Runaway
(I wrote the below poem for Ginny in 1985, when I was 19, a year-and-a-half after she'd stolen money from her parents to take a bus to Austin, where I was a freshman in a college dorm, unable to take her in permanently. Afterwards, her parents banned me from seeing her. She ran off to Austin a couple of times more, usually accompanied by a new "best friend." She died in 1988.)
 
 
I was the bad one
and you, Mr. Suitcase-god-and-baggage
the ever-so addled, standing
hatless in Austin rain,
wondering how five dollars worth of tokens
could have bought so much goddamn trouble.
 
Yes, she's here.
With excuses and a 6am taxi.
The stain on her shoulder where the fat man slept
and a whole lifetime of indecision still
unaccounted for.
 
And you stand --
sane Baptist eyes figuring (rightly)
that she is yours.
With me too stupid
to see the lure of the religion, sex, and TV
that will be hers for the asking.
 
And home she goes (did you ever doubt?)
Stoneage guilt riding low
and your hand on her arm.
She is SAFE, by god, so safe...
With so much to offer,
we should have all married
men like you.

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