Even salt and rust can’t devour 
the memory of speed and wind 

tangled together each Sunday 
at the local drag-race, or the time 

Johnny Q spun out in a whirlwind 
of dust to catch on fire the heart 

of some girl at the top of the bleachers 
who wouldn’t stop weeping until, 

ten minutes later, they pried him out, 
unscathed. By then, she swore 

she loved him, even when he didn’t 
look up and the “they” who saved him 

returned to their T-shirted crew 
and greasy wrenches. What does 

it matter if thirty or forty years 
have dug their heels in, refused to 

budge memory’s metallic blue 
into today, despite dented fenders, 

cracked windshields, weather 
or vandals depleting tires 

that took you beyond yourself 
into the dangers that demanded, 

“Look straight ahead. 
Go as fast as you can”? 

What does it matter? 
The old slogan “Sunday! 

Sunday! Sunday!” revitalizes 
the middle-aged mind 

just in time for the dead 
broadcaster to serenade 

your actions. In slow motion, 
you open the creaking door, 

slide behind the wheel, 
pretend to give the Blue Monster 

the gas just like you used to, 
no one around to tell you 

to play it safe, 
obey the rules, 

to finally 
act your age. 

Sunday! Sunday! Sunday! (2024, photograph)
Copyrighted © by Karen Elias. All rights reserved.
Appears here with artist’s permission.

*Publisher’s Note:

Creating visual art in response to poetry or other forms of writing is called etymphrasis, a term coined by artist, writer, and educator Jane Edberg. To learn more, see Kendall Johnson’s interview of Edberg and John Brantingham, whose book My Dead presents Brantingham’s poetry and Edberg’s artwork in response, in Issue 19 of MacQueen’s Quinterly: Art and Writing in This Age of Isolation... (August 2023).

Bio: Marjorie Maddox

Bio: Karen Elias

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