His Wheels

[dukealien]

Thanks for all the comments!  Dreams, you never know what you're getting...

I see that this is a poem about entitlement that you have had to sign for.
Others' entitlement.
That you have to sign up for them and you.

That was one aspect of this dream that made me think (afterward, of course):  do the dead depend on us in some way, like minor gods we chuckle about fading away when they lose their last believers?  Signing for Dad's car (now I think about it) would be almost like buying the indulgences Martin Luther was so vexed about.  Or Egyptian grave goods, for use of the deceased.

(The other thing, which worried me after I woke up but before I realized it  had been a dream - strange state! - was that the paper I signed was the typical long, flimsy document in very fine print and I hadn't read it at all.)