Rock Ring

We used to go the rock show,
daddy and me.
He would take me
in his old blue Chevy
pick-up truck
with no air conditioner.
I wore my red goulashes
With cut-off blue jean shorts.
He let me listen to his
Mixed cassette tapes;
he let me into his soul.
One year he bought me
an amethyst rock ring.
Tumbled by an old man
from Little Switzerland.
And I held on to it like it was 17
diamonds because my daddy
gave me magic in sawdust pies
swept from the remnants of his dreams
on that old basement floor.
We used to go to the rock show,
daddy and me.