4 Oct: "The Pink Car" by Mark Halliday

The pink car is in my head. It rolls calmly and calmly. Across the carpet in 1957 and in my head. Why is it pink? The question does not come up. The pink car is just what it is and glad so. Pink is its own color, of its own, being that. (Pink not anything about sex and not anything about femininity and not anything about embarrassment or socialism those meanings are from outside whereas this pink car is not coming from an idea it is a way of being itself.) The pink car rolls slowly along a pale green lane till it needs to go fast then it goes very fast while still quiet. It knows what it is, it is the pink car! Along the lanes to be what it is it goes around hard corners and far across a wide plain and back again whenever it wants. Other cars can be all those other colors the pink car doesn't care they can be loud and big the pink car doesn't care that is why it can roll so quietly and go slow until it goes fast for awhile. Other cars might honk their horns to seem big -- the pink car doesn't honk and doesn't worry it just goes along the pale green lane and around a sharp corner and down another lane to stop in a special spot. Why is the spot special? Because the pink car stopped there! Stopping quiet but ready to go, to go and be the pink car which is all it wants. And when will I, when can I ever be the man impied by this sedan? Poem 005, Poetry 180 (note: this author was featured for 4-5 poems on our website list, but this does not appear to be one of them- even though we are getting familiar with his voice)