Ghost Collector

Some of the ghosts in my car have been there
from the start, others are recent tenants.

A few have left tokens to remind me
of our time once they have moved on.

A polaroid picture, handprints on the
windshield, a Valentine's card, an old lighter.

I could dispose of these things but they
have ceased to be mere objects.

The distances I have traveled are measured
by more than the ascending odometer

or the progressively tattered upholstery.
These ghosts don't wish to be forgotten,

they want to live on, even if just for a moment
every now and then.

Mileage

A pair of handprints pressed into the glass
on the passenger side of the car-
smeared ever slightly,
a handmade Valentine's Day card faded
in a rarely touched nook,
a polaroid picture slipped between
scraped and scuffed cds,
accumulated ash and dirt
from driving miles
and miles with the windows
rolled down,
my youth draining
into the climbing numbers
of the odometer.
A car as weathered
as my mind.
It carries on as though
the check engine light
hasn't been staring at me
the last fifteen-thousand miles.