Debating the Sky

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I remember Dad behind the wheel,
elbows out, arm resting on the window,
eyebrows furrowed, eyes darting,
hands twitching in rhythm
with invisible opponents.
He often said on the Los Angeles freeway,
shaking his head and rubbing his eyes,
“Boys, I can't see a damn thing.”
Five lanes of traffic
and two sons scared shitless
at what that meant.

I asked Mom once,
“What is he doing?”
She said, “Arguing with people in his head.”
I laughed then.
I laugh now,
thinking about all there is to argue about.
The greedy, the careless,
the cruel, the brutal people
that want more, only more.

Mostly, though, it was on the way
to Hollywood Park
or Santa Anita.
Dad leaned over the wheel,
muttering, gesturing,
convincing the horses to run faster,
turn on the juice in the homestretch,
telling Shoemaker to use the whip
and Pincay to take the inside lane
on the final turn.

I watched him like a scientist,
like a budding poet,
a child noticing the absurd motions,
the invisible dialogues,
the way his lips moved
like he was negotiating with a stubborn wind,
or providence asleep
at the wheel.

Sometimes, Dad drifted lane to lane,
no turn signal, no checking the rearview mirror,
and I'd feel the invisible friction
he was arguing about in his mind.
A swerve here, a sudden pounding
on the brake there,
and I'd think,
he's winning, he's losing,
he's keeping the chaos at bay
with a twitch of a finger
or an angry glance at the sky.

Later, I thought maybe it was the horses�"
maybe he was seeing the race
before it happened,
like a silent jockey,
mapping every stride, every stumble.
Or maybe he was just a man
arguing with life
and the only witnesses were his sons,
trying not to have panic attacks
in the backseat.
Or maybe he watched Inherit the Wind
one too many times.
He always dreamed of being a lawyer.
Debating gave him high blood pressure
and satisfaction.

I can see him now,
that California gray sky,
sitting on the dashboard,
hand out the window,
a conductor of invisible speeches,
making peace with the world,
one argument at a time.

Author's Note

If you’d like to hear more of my work, I recently posted a long-form poetry reading on my YouTube channel — one or two poems from each of my four books, read in a relaxed, uninterrupted session.

You can watch it here:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dY2euFFCXLI

Thank you for reading and supporting independent poetry.

— Thomas W. Case

Reviews

[John the Baptist]

Actually, Dad's mental antics are only a slight exaggeration of what most of us do, whether we admit it or not. A part of our minds needs engagement and indulges in fantasies to achieve that state. The emotional mind will do anything to avoid apparent nothingness.

[Thomas W Case]

So true. Thank you, my friend.

[ETERNITY]

John the Baptist, Great point!

[redzone]

I love this kind of poetry, a story of our youth and innocence; a memory of those drives with our parents, sometimes going nowhere special, but the "discussions" between father and sons, packed with debates and speeches that often led to philosophical lectures about blue or grey skies, or wars and peace, but having the flavor of family life. These lines resonated for me:
"Or maybe he was just a man
arguing with life
and the only witnesses were his sons,
trying not to have panic attacks
in the backseat."

Thanks Thomas for sharing this wonderful poem.
-Curt

[Thomas W Case]

Thank you. I appreciate it.

[Soren]

A nostalgic poem that takes me back as well to childhood and riding with an uncle on the Los Angeles freeway in an old car windows down traffic and smog obscuring vision. This poem took me there after so many years buried in memory's dust. Thanks for the memories my friend

[Thomas W Case]

Thank you. I appreciate it.

[Soren]

You are most welcome Thomas

[Michael Sun Bear]

This poem drifts from lane to lane, but that’s a good thing. Each stanza changes perspective allowing us to see your father from different angles. I finished with such a clear picture of the man. Well done Thomas.

[Thomas W Case]

Thank you, my friend.

[Coyote Poetry]

I have driven the L.A highway. I talk to myself too. I enjoyed the poem, Thomas. You took me back to my Army days. Thank you for sharing the entertaining poetry.
Coyote

[Thomas W Case]

Thank you, my friend.

[Coyote Poetry]

You are welcome, Thomas.