Objects in Mirror Are Closer Than They Appear

My grandpa loudly swore while I
watched what was behind pass by.
He drove intently through the years
now gone, each with an alibi.

I drive those curves every July.
Cragged canyon faces amplify
ricochets from shifting gears
and uprisings from my mind’s eye.

A question from my child: “But why?”
How to explain life disappears
as approaching objects flash past mirrors?

Each of us will somehow try
to hold fine days like souvenirs—
cobalt or dull, what’s next appears.