Classic Poem

Driving a cardboard automobile without a license
      at the turn of the century
   my father ran into my mother
                  on a fun-ride at Coney Island
         having spied each other eating
             in a French boardinghouse nearby
            And having decided right there and then
                           that she was right for him entirely
   he followed her into
                           the playland of that evening
         where the headlong meeting
            of their ephemeral flesh on wheels
         hurtled them forever together


And I now in the back seat
               of their eternity
                     reaching out to embrace them