The Wonders of a Car Trunk

A turn of a key, a lift of a hand; A motley assortment both bland and grand, so often concealed in black beneath black, revealed in the light of the widening crack. Toolkits, a battery starter, headlamp, and socks, an adjustable wrench, towel, and padlocks, scattered papers of importance unknown, a shoebag, a tripod, a cow’s jawbone? An umbrella for those days of rain. Trench coat, fedora, weather-beaten cane: random props from days gone by, from plays and videos made on the fly. An old robe, a black fabric cape, water gun, floodlight, and duct tape colored camouflage, silver, blue, and red, old pine cones and leaf samples now dead. Rubberized pieces of our high school track stolen in the form of a metaphoric smack to the face of the school board who had it paved. Pairs of broken sunglasses needlessly saved, emergency preparedness kit, and a softball glove, a Redskins hat of which I‘ve fallen out of love. Old, new, random, expected, broken, repaired, no matter: I was taught to always be prepared.