Dirty Car

Driving home from Clark College campus,
I think it’s appropriate
for a poet to be in a dirty car
covered with cat tracks.

The caterwauling calico in heat
left her marks upon the hood.
Maybe her suitors joined her
there under the snooping stars.

This was my mother’s car.
She doesn’t say it upsets her to see it so
but asks, “Is the right front tire low?
Have you checked the anti-freeze?”