Nails, Steering Wheels, and Andromeda

Nails, Steering Wheels, and Andromeda

By Peter Merz

Son (that's what my mom liked to call me), remember when

Uncle Fred kept placing nails under your grandpa's car?

Mom  asked (probably rhetorically, 'cause I'm quite sure

yes or no, she would repeat it down to the last comma and period).

It's a story I've heard over and over

at least 3.5 quadrillion times (and believe me, that's no exaggeration!)-

I wonder what color grandpa's steering wheel was…

Whether black, or brown, or maybe even periwinkle (hey, you never know-

after all, he was always a little bit unusual- yeh kinda like me).

Suddenly, little David burst in with his once blonde hair,

now dyed three shades of orange!

Brilliantly, I used this to my maximum advantage

to quietly egress, sneaking softly outside-

filled with an incurable wanderlust beneath the broken streetlight,

Gazing in awe and wonder at Andromeda.