A Tube of Toothpaste and a Tuba

"To enter upon such a description is like trying to capture the uncapturable. Its only purpose can be to flatter the vanity of the describer."

We were camped in the heat in the wash.
I was taking our daughter to pee
When a woman appeared in the trees,

Tall, thin, freckled, wearing pink glasses
And white slacks, feet vanishing in sand.
She asked if I was part of the band

And pointed to a car in the scrub
Behind us, bottomed out on bald tires,
A tuba tied to the top by wires,

Gray, overloaded with guitars, drums,
One tube of toothpaste, no empty seats
Save for the gone driver's. A slight breeze,

Fluffed the woman's sweat-drenched hair. I said,
No, there's no band. That car's just stuck there.
Her head dropped with despair like a tree's.