poem

There was another woman once
who drove a Volkswagon.
I used to listen to them going past,
knowing it would never be her.

Now, anytime I hear one
down on the main road,
joy surges through me,
'cause I know it might be you -
for some reason,
or for no reason,
or "for all those reasons" -
coming to be with me. And
when it's not you,
the sound reminds me anyway.

'Though not tonight.
Today the two year drought has broken.
The rain has cut off both our roads from town.
You car and yourself,
your very good self,
are rained in too.
These days . . .
these days
there is no pathos
when I hear Volkswagons.

Now, anytime I hear one,
down on the main road,
I know it might be you,
coming to be with me.

See you when the waters go down.
When the telephone works again.
When one of our cars can get out . . . and in . . . again.
Now, anytime I hear one
it's a lovely
night.