In the community parking lot
in the center of Taos,
and old pickup sat complacent
more than parked, rusting
in spots, last painted
by someone in the late ‘70s
perhaps. It might have
been able to move, but it
showed no desire to do so,
tires not flat but wishing so.

That was thirteen years ago,
and it is likely no longer
there, or collapsed into rust,
but in the mind’s camera
it still sits there, beckoning,
unmoving, waiting for an owner
who has moved on, glad
to be rid of the hulk at last.