His name was Brill, but most people knew him as Blond Elvis.
As he cruised down the highway,
his mind spun in many directions–
his driving, his destination, his day.
But all he really wanted to think about was
of the back window
of the old orange Chevy truck
in front of him.
One wide, uninterrupted plate of glass
with a lean look and corners that were square
yet round. You could see through it clear to the front of the truck,
all that light and air. You could hold it up with both hands held way apart,
if it was detached from the truck.
You could study it
for a long time.