I've been booed in the shower,
put down on the patio,
ridiculed at the beach,
but when I sing in the car
I get nothing but approval:
big smiles from the dashboard,
handclaps from the windshield wipers,
rousing cheers from the steering wheel.
Even though I'm no Tony Bennett,
no Nat King Cole of the tollways,
I can croon along on every song
the Delco radio serves up,
and when I get going good
on some old favorite,
like perhaps “Rags to Riches”
or maybe “Answer Me, My Love,”
I start to see my name in lights.
The face in the mirror is mine.
I have a captive audience.
And I can do me better than me.
Dave Etter, High High the Moon (Granite Falls, Minn.: Spoon
River Poetry Press, 1996).
