A Green Ford

My mother used to tell me about
herself, at age sixteen and the boy
she wanted to love who drove
a green Ford Mustang, Mach II.
(and now, I think, isn’t that a razor?)

Now, 1:30 a.m. on a Thursday
night, years after I first heard the story,
I remember it. How she used to leave her light
on, late at night hoping a green Ford would pass
by and notice.

I remember laughing at her then.
What a silly idea, I told her.
Still, tonight the story has come back to me
as i sit watching the window, listening for car
doors, making excuses, even to myself to stay
awake in this room filled with light
realizing that when you come home
you’ll see it,
glowing yellow into the dark parking lot.