Poetry Daily

16th October 2003

From Poetry Daily:

The Cadillac in the Attic

by Andrew Hudgins

After the tenant moved out, died, disappeared

the stories vary the landlord

walked downstairs, bemused, and told his wife,

“There’s a Cadillac in the attic,”

and there was. An old one, sure, and one

with sloppy paint, bald tires,

and orange rust chewing at the rocker panels,

but still and all, a Cadillac in the attic.

He’d battled transmission, chassis, engine block,

even the huge bench seats,

up the folding stairs, heaved them through the trapdoor,

and rebuilt a Cadillac in the attic.

Why’d he do it? we asked. But we know why.

For the reasons we would do it: for the looks

of astonishment he’d never see but could imagine.

For the joke. A Cadillac in the attic!

And for the meaning, though we aren’t sure what it means.

And of course he did it for pleasure,

the pleasure on his lips of all those short vowels

and three hard clicks: the Cadillac in the attic.