POEM A DAY – March 5

Tonka Truck

I saved up my allowance
(wrinkled grey and white ones
crisp pink and red twos…wishing for
a brisk blue five) and yearned for
garage-sale saturdays, for used
novels, torn-cornered and spine
crusted, for Barbie clothes and single
plastic white heels with the toes
teeth-marked, for marbles and micro-
machines, for slinkies and stickers:
I wasn’t looking for the truck.

Bright yellow metal, as big as my
torso, heavy and hungry for action.
A ‘boy’ toy my heart fell in love with,
black marks on the doors like lasting
kisses. The wheels as big as
the palm of my hand. I hauled it
home, prouder than a lion king
mouthing a zebra. I cleaned it with
Vim, took it to the basement, and
introduced it to fake Barbie, my
Judy Blume novels, promised it
adventures, dirt tracks, attention.