Never Too Late
Her neighbor the artist drives a purple truck whose grille
sports Wonder Woman flanked by alligators—
bald dollheads in rubber jaws—plus a hood arrayed
with real shark jaws aimed heavenward to fence in
a riot of toy soldiers and Fisher-Price figures.
Madonnas, plastic Jesuses and Buddhas spill
from the dashboard; a headless GI Joe is splayed
on the driver door, beside numbers in Sharpie pen
that tote up deaths in Iraq and Afghanistan.
Her own car bears a solo magnet—the pink bow
for breast cancer. But today the superglue
is out. Choreographing her collection
of tiny cats and dogs on the hood—contradance of porcelain
plus whimsy plus hope—it’s the least she can do.