Road Blur Silver

by Taylor Turner

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The boy couldn’t sing for shit,
But boy, did he love to sing.

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He’d ride his old ’69 Mustang,
All cracked leather and sunburned chrome with the steering wheel rattling.

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He’d sing along to every song,
his voice vibrating with every bump.

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He’d love to listen to the oldies.
You know, the type of music your grandpa listened to back in the old malt shop and drank pop.

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Songs that are all about the same thing.
Some poor fool dizzy over a girl.

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Loving her and begging her and losing her,
or not even catching her name.

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They ask a girl why their love has ended,
never asking what went wrong.

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I don’t get it.
It all sounds like Christmas music to me.

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But the boy had an appreciation for it.
“It’s romantic,” he’d say.

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Liked to slow dance to I Love You For Sentimental Reasons but only Nat King Cole’s version,
“Because nobody belts it like Nat, baby,” he’d say.

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Liked to shake his ass to MJ while pumping gas just to embarrass me,
“Best show in the Midwest,” he’d say.

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Liked to play Careless Whisper during sex,
“Babymaking music,” he’d say.

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Liked to listen to Bob Marley while getting high because he’s just that obvious,
“The stars look like glitter tonight,” he’d say.

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Liked to cry to Patsy Cline whenever we fight,
“I need my baby back,” he’d say.

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Liked to sing Hopelessly Devoted to You at the top of his lungs,
“You hopelessly devoted to me, baby?” he’d ask me.

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And I’d watch the road blur silver under headlights as his cigarette smoke drifted out the window,
thinking maybe I was.

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The boy couldn’t sing for shit,
But every song sounded like love when he did.