Nightmare in Denim

(Note: this came from a nightmare I had when I was small, in Buffalo, NY. Why I still remember it as vividly as I do remains a mystery.–jrs)

I cowered in my sleep
unable to turn away,
unable to awaken to the grey
room where I watched out
the window at the swooping
blue jacket trying to get in.
It knew where I was.

It flashed by the window
and soared above the rooftops
across the street, always
rushing back to stare in at me.
It wanted me
and I didn’t know why.

Sixty years later
I wear one much like it
as I rumble across the wide west
wrapped in the wonderful
metaphor called wanderlust.
Maybe that little boy
knew something I’ve forgotten.
The dream still haunts.

The jacket has me now.

dali clocks  water chair

ghost rider

(Dali clocks:; chair:; biker:

About Jim Stewart

Writer at Butt in Chair
This entry was posted in Aging, Dream, memory, Motorcycles and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to Nightmare in Denim

  1. I wonder what that jacket means.

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