when you drive it, memories come out
of the memory car
the memory car has got a switch that can turn it on and off
do you know what it can go?
there also is a backseat
it’s so big
for you to get in
you can’t open the door
if you want to get in
because there is no door
we have to jump into the memory car
do you know what the memory car is?
it’s so long
do you know what it’s got?
a fire top
do you know where the memories all go?
out the roof
and like a pink one lands in my hand
can you drive it?
This was the Day 13 prompt (yesterday) to write about something that is mysterious and spooky in a bad way (like a witch), or mysterious and spooky in a good way (possibly also like a witch? It depends on the witch, I guess!) Or just the everyday, mysterious, spooky quality of being alive. This was a “found poem” taken mostly verbatim from something my four-year-old was telling me.