Neon Sun

This morning’s neon orange sun
is the same one
that greeted me and Dad
decades ago on every Saturday
on our way to the West Side Market.
He’s driving stickshift
while drinking black coffee
and smoking a Salem.
I’m letting the wind whip my hair
while we listen to classic rock,
and I’m already thinking about
our favorite stands and the smells
and how we’ll have everything done
before the rest of the world
even gets up for the day.
This neon sun illuminates us,
but it doesn’t blind us.
Not the same way the sun usually does.
Thank goodness —
because this morning,
I can’t take my eyes off it.


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