In the Eastern Great Plains
The crisp air blows through the long-grass fields.
Frost has formed on the metal power line towers
In the early winter morning.

An old, faded white house
Stands erect among forgotten broken cars,
Old rusted shop signs, and a half finished shop,
The roof sagged and fallen in on itself.

The rough, peeling paint on the face of the house
Accents the broken windows and sagging roof.
The lawn has been worn down to dirt and
Fence posts lay broken and left to rot.

An old man works vigorously on an aged 32’ Ford,
Lost in time,
Pulling parts and pieces off similar Fords,
Attempting to restore his lost dream car.

The brilliant blue 32’ Ford has turned to a rusty, sky blue
And sits on three flat tires and a broken rear differential.

With each passing day the car remembers
More and more of what it was like to be new.
With each passing day the old man becomes
Closer to finishing the old, forgotten car.

In the distance the modern world moves on,
And with each passing day, the man falls deeper and deeper
Into the forgotten past.