Day 5 of the January Open Write. A very special thanks to our hosts this month: Stacey J. Joy, Dr. Kim Johnson, and Susie Morice! We so appreciate your inspiration and that you took such care of our hearts and minds! Teacher-poets, will see you all February 19-23 with Glenda, Susan, and Britt.
Our Host
Susie Morice lives in St. Louis, Missouri and has been a Midwesterner for most of her life. Her love of poetry dates back to her childhood and carries the stories generated by experiences of early years on a farm, a big complicated family, a deep love of music, critters, and learning. Though retired from the public school classroom, she knows that she remains a teacher and a poet to the bone.
Inspiration for today’s prompt: Cars
My very first car was a beat-up, old Chevy wagon – grey and rusty – that cost me a very dear $100 and smoked like the mosquito wagon that doused the neighborhoods of STL through the summer of 1970. I named it Mosquito Wagon, and took my foot off the accelerator every time a police car was in sight to curtail the cloud of fumes that coughed out the tailpipe. It was my student teaching ride. It only had to last for about 4 months, and I sold it the week after I graduated for — yup, you guessed it — $100. It’s nearly impossible to have grown up in the U.S. and not had an affection or, at least, a story reflected in an automobile or vehicle. Ubiquitous in our country’s culture, the car is a sparking generator of narrative. Be it in song lyrics or in poems, we have a relationship with cars, like it or not. What they look like, how they run, how vehicles dictate our working day, what types of roars they make, the malfunctions, the joyride… you name it, we have attitudes and relationships with cars. So, let’s take a ride together…the car is the vehicle…the poem is the ride.
Process
Start a 3-column list.
- Column on far left: Make a list of the cars/vehicles in your life…in your life/your family’s life.
- Middle Column: By each car/vehicle put a plus [+] or minus [–] by the car (good/bad).
- Right Column: Add phrases/words that earn that car the plus or the minus.
Example:
- Studebaker – a 1-year wonder; piece of junk; slow; too small; no power; cheap …
- Lowriders + attitude; antics; painted orange flames; artistry; community …
- Chevy wagon – grey; rusted; smoked; mosquito wagon; broken window; $100 …
- City Bus + billboards; route maps; stops; coins clicking; passes; exhaust …
- Metro + people/culture mix; electric hum; sharing space; chrome bars …
- Triumph TR-6 + maroon; convertible; sex appeal; status; tiny; hotrod; cool …
Let one of these cars take off … let the senses tell the tale… recreate the vibe of the ride, the moment of impact, the smell of the pipes and upholstery, the sound of the radio and engine, the feel of Naugahyde/leather/vinyl, the glint of chrome, colors, the acrid taste of exhaust… take us for a spin.
Susie’s Poem
CARS
Growing up car savvy
heated up the gender boundaries
in my family;
we little girls
quiet but revved
to be riding in the back seat
Saturdays to the grocery in town,
any ride was a good ride
even Dad’s Studebakers —
Studes (stoooods) only lasted a year
through Dad’s daily grind and wind
from farm to city and back,
gravel, asphalt, hills, miles
before Eisenhower ever thought
of a highway system —
in a glazed stare, I watched corn and wheat
row after row scud by,
but it was the action on the pavement
that shifted my gears —
“cool cars”
whizzed ‘round us:
Plymouth Belvedere’s Slant 6,
four-on-the-floor sticks,
Dodge Seneca’s push-button transmission,
T-Bird’s bucket seats,
Mercury’s chrome,
I felt my heart’s submission,
ears fixed to Dad and brother Joe
dissecting cars:
cylinders, camshafts, clutches, carburetors,
valves, gaskets, engine whine,
baby moons, fenders, and fins,
and of course GM vs Ford,
always a rating up and down the price line –
big drive talk, man talk,
car talk;
it mattered not what we could afford,
cars forever
caulked into the corners
of my imagination,
purred with the whirr of wind
through the venting wing windows;
early listening laid tracks in the vinyl
of my love and life with cars,
burned rubber
in my sense of the automobile –
if country and western music is “three chords and the truth,”
then the automobile is “four wheels and a tale”
not so much having cars
as dreaming cars,
synching cars and drivers,
cars and dogs,
cars and tunes,
cars and car-care,
cars and hair;
the ride,
with the top down,
gusts in my face,
the feel of a 350 horsepower,
400 cubic inch GTO,
the rumble of it in my gut,
AM channels on the radio dial,
even the squirrel-n-whirl engine
of a baby blue Beetle,
the hood ornament of a Jaguar leaping,
the Impala’s racing antelope,
the sex of a Triumph TR-6,
the purr of a Corvette,
the clutch-popping of a warrior Willys.
With miles and a lifetime,
my treads worn bare
and a life pulling to the left
in tortile alignment,
I roll onto Reality Drive
here at the exit lane,
scanning the websites
of Honda, to find
what will be my last
CR-V, same silver body,
same 4-cylinders,
same utility drive
to schlep the guitar,
the bike,
my last dog,
a Costco load,
and me back and forth
in my sensible shoes,
always downshifting
through a life, just
a little bit
car poor
and story rich.
by Susie Morice, October 6, 2021©
And as always, if today’s prompt doesn’t rev your poetic engines, then take us on whatever trip moves you …. imagining, putting yourself in a driver’s seat, taking yourself out of the driver’s seat…heck, you might merely muse the absence of cars in your life…examine where your feet take you. 🙂 We just hope you’ll write and ride with us today.
Your Turn
Now, scroll to the comment section below to write your own poem. (This is a public space, so you may use only your first name or initials depending on your privacy preferences.) Not ready? That’s okay. Read the poems already posted for more inspiration. Ponder your own throughout the day. Return later. And, if the prompt does not work for you, that is fine. All writing is welcome. Just write something. Also, please be sure to respond to at least three writers. Oh, and a note about drafting: Since we are writing in short bursts, we all understand (and even welcome) the typos and partial poems that remind us we are human and that writing is always becoming. If you’d like to invite other teachers to write with us, tell them to subscribe.
An Ode to Fern
My First. The first car that was mine, all mine! No more Daddy’s truck or borrowing the family car. You made my youthful heart beat wildly!
My First Financial Responsibility as an adult. In a fatherly gesture Daddy introduced us and handed over the monthly payments as well. Gulp.
My Future. You bridged the gap from college days into the working world as an adult. Changes were afoot and you assisted me in transforming from a college girl into a newbie teacher ready to open the minds of little children and change the world.
My Freedom. You were the essence of freedom- It was you and me, and the world was ours to come and go as we pleased! The trails of Georgia highways and dirt roads were laden with our adventures, and maybe a few mishaps. My friends thank you for each and every escapade, for as we know now, we were busily creating memories.
My Friend. You were there for me through my romantic woes and bucketed the many broken-hearted tears that were shed on long trips from North Georgia to South Georgia. Quite a few conversations about the male sex we had inside our little 2-doored comfort zone.
My Fiery Oven in the hot southern summers. No air conditioning. Vinyl seats. You were not for the fainthearted. There is an art to peeling off your bare legs when they are melded to plastic. I did not discover it. On the flip side, in the winter, you could enjoy sliding across the frigid, slick vinyl seating as there was no way for your frosty bottom to get a solid grip to maintain contact.
My Fern. Ford Fairlane. 1966. Flaxen-colored. Window handles. Radio. Steering wheel that required the grip of death to maneuver. My metallic beauty. Good times.
Forgotten? Never in a million years…
Ahhhh……1966……such a great year! The peeling off of bare legs melded to plastic, oh yes – – the Volkswagen Squareback with the black vinyl seats was famous for that. I love your memories of the car – and the payments. We learned how to be responsible and how to take care of what we paid for, though, that’s for sure. That road from YHC to home must have been filled with all kinds of dreams of the future. And look. They all came true!
Susie,
Had one of those, wanted one of those, the ‘downshifting’ from muscle car to sensible CRV reflection on thee and me, the fact that every car ever made will break your heart…eventually. Thanks for this provocation and evocation. And thanks for the prompt and the invite. With the kewl kidz now.
I too am from Missouri and cars are in my blood. Growing up, every weekend was spent around cars-Car shows, drag strips, races, demo derbies, cruising, mechanic shop (where my dad worked), and everything else. Cars was IT.
I started this exercise like you said-with the column lists, but then I read your poem and decided to reminisce on my past and cars-and my dad.
A Rumble Deep in My Chest
A rumble deep in my chest
I look out the window
see dad pulling into the drive
today it’s the ’66 Charger
shining black
just washed
wheels sparkling
sometimes I get to ride in the back glass
free
to play with my barbies
and soak up the sun
The smell of leather
calms me
the rumble deep in my chest
soothes me
the wind blowing through the open windows
carry my thoughts away.
A rumble deep in my chest
When I think about my dad
like the cars and trucks he drove
through my childhood.
We are both strong willed
stubborn and always right
but the love we have is a
rumble deep in my chest
always there
and will never leave.
Alexis — I loved the juxtaposition between a kid with her Barbies and a 1966 muscle car. The rumble…so much more than the muscle, the feeling of connection with your dad. Powerful! It’s a heck of a car, and I’m guessing that it fit your dad like a glove. “…stubborn, strong willed, shining…sparkling.” Neat moment you have here. Thanks for posting! Susie
Car Memory
The noble glass-front china cabinet
was hefted and laid prone
with the gentle hands of pallbearers.
The curved-glass columbarium
of delicate teacups
rode prone in the back of the family Rambler
when we moved from Iowa City to Newton.
I was four.
Third child, third girl,
–they did, with #5, achieve a male
hunched fetal, next to the cat
in tight space behind the driver’s seat.
Memory so vague
still raw–
Why was I so small?
This is bone-chilling! I’d also love to know more! Don’t you have a million questions of your elders who are gone? I love that you selected a precise moment to write about in a poem related to cars.
I bet you can see and hear every detail here.
?
I have so many memories of ‘wedged’ seatbelt-less in the car – or moving from one seat to another, as car sped along…this poem took me back to those moments. It is stunning and sad, yes, to imagine
while the little one, precious you, is left squished with the cat. I think it’s just so shocking with hindsight…I mean, it’s a 10 minute or more process for me to take my granddaughters anywhere these days, trying to figure out their carseats!
Love that last question.
Hi, Allison — You gave me a snapshot here….the moment of memory, almost like a teardrop rolling down a cheek…there and then only the memory of it. I can see that glass columbarium splayed so carefully in that car…a slow drive to keep that carefully prone. The image of your little body wedged in for the drive. “So small” and yet with such a big memory that held that moment in place all these years. A heavy weight in this poem. I think you have mined this “raw[ness]” for awhile now. There is another poem here; I can just feel it. I’m glad I wandered back today looking for your poem. You poem reads like a sepia photograph, and that feels so right. Hugs to the woman with the huge heart. Susie
Dear Stacey, Kim, Susie, and Sarah:
Thank you for hosting our poetry party this month. Thank you for your inspiring prompts and for nurturing our hearts and souls w/ your words and friendships. Stacey, I did write a list poem Saturday but did not share it. I hesitated sharing poems this month because I knew I’d struggle being as present here as I normally try to be. Kim, I had fun “cheating” my way through paint-chip poetry; I welcomed the opportunity to tell 2022 it’s not living up to standards. Susie, I do have fun car stories, so perhaps another time one will take the wheel. Sarah, your gift of time and place means more than I can say. “Thank you” simply isn’t adequate to express how grateful I am.
—Glenda
Thank you, Glenda. You take good care of yourself and let your fine self be with us in spirit while you tend to things the best you can. I’m grateful for you every time you’re here.
And you are so right in how appreciative we all feel for Sarah’s empathic, strong leadership in shepherding this nurturing, intelligent space. Love, Susie
Glenda, thank you for always being here one way or another! I know how to reach you and vice versa. The most important thing to do is take care of YOU!
?
Susie,
What fun to see your love and history with cars. I love that your poem recognizes the value of the stories about cars! And boy, making the chart about all the cars in my life really did come up with so much potential narrative. Thank you so much! I’ve had a really busy day, so here is an incomplete rough draft. (I looked up color words from Sherwin-Williams again from their red palette to describe my first red car.)
Opel Kadett Estate
minted in 1967
Ten years later it
became my first car baby
A real red Valentine
presented to me
by my mom for my senior year
A show-stopping heartthrob
that cost a precious $250.
A delicious cherries jubilee rave
that all my friends loved to ride in
A charismatic bolero dance,
this little beauty was all mine.
The very first week
that obnoxious “check oil” light kept
showing up on my instrument panel.
That little radish shrilled its warning.
I knew how to check the oil
I can pull out the dipstick
So I checked it lots of times,
all week.
The oil was always fine,
never low.
So I kept driving it.
Another week later
there would be no more driving it.
The motor had burned out.
(to be continued!)
Oh, what a delicious line!
“That little radish shrilled its warning”
WIWI (“Wish I’d Written It”)
Denise, how clever to incorporate yesterday’s prompt, too. The colors were perfect. This is a wonderful draft. I’m sure it’ll go places (see what I did there?).
Denise – You’ve got me hooked… what happened!? Getting your very own car… sooo exciting, but not that darned engine light! I hate that little icon. It’s a curse! Thanks for writing tonight!!! Susie
Hi Denise! Lovely! I could feel myself dancing inside along these lines, “A charismatic bolero dance, /this little beauty was all mine.” There is a beautiful intimacy on this after just sharing how the friends all enjoyed the car. And fun fact: DITTO! on me blowing up my first car’s engine for the exact same reason. What are the chances?!
Such fabulous reds, throughout these car memories! I love these lines especially,
Susie, love your car memories! You really stirred up mine! Had a busy day watching my grandson. Managed to churn out this quick and sloppy semi-rhyme!
In the sixties it was a thing—
The great outdoors was where to be!
Jeeps and campers lined up on highways,
dune buggies
or a trailer full of kids.
We’d pile in the back of the red Willy’s Jeep
Standing up, grabbing the roll bar,
wind whipping in our faces, cruising the streets
We always lived in Manhattan Beach.
At age 5 Dad taught me to shift
He pumped the clutch, I manned the stick!
I hung around the men and their wives
The Jeep club was a big part of life
The sound of motors, cigarettes, and grease
The men always fixing some broken piece
The wives would cackle and drink their wine
I was the baby, so cute and so shy.
They all called me “Charlie” or “World’s Best Camper”
I was part of the group and soaked in the banter
Mom stayed home, no interest in jeeping
We were adventurers, mischief-seeking.
Dad let me loose with the buggy at ten
I could barely reach the pedals and
then off I went to explore the dunes
shaped like bowls that we would traverse
Great hills to get stuck on —you’d have to reverse.
Wandering, lost in the sandy trails
I found my first taste of freedom there
As long as I found my way back it was fine—
No worries, just feeling the thrill of the ride.
We’d speed on the beach towards Devil’s Slide,
Smooth sand sailing at low tide
Cold wind numbing my ears was no joke,
The sound of loud motors, the smell of smoke,
marshmallows, beans, and a weenie roast
Those were the times I remember the most,
Nancy, you inspire me! I can’t believe you dashed this off after a long day. I found myself smiling at the pictures you’ve painted. Very evocative.
Nancy – The bounce of the rhymes fits the buggies … the whole poem just pops with a carefree sense of glee. I loved the sensory details… “ motors, kcigarettes, and grease.” I loved that you could bolt free of parents and be out there on your own… it was just so freeing. Love this. Cool
poem! Susie
Wonderful memories and well written, Nan. I share them to as your sister. What fun we had in those jeep trips. That’s how I met my future husband, in those dunes.
Susie! I LOVED your poem and feel so honored that your Honda has pulled into my rural driveway–loaded with bike and guitar. Why didn’t we play tunes on my porch!? Next time…
A college professor once told me that all poems are about love or death. Yours is about both. Your final sentence tugs me fast on your heels as we roll onto Reality Drive. My heart lurched with “downshifting
through a life, just
a little bit
car poor
and story rich.”
Ahhhh…THANK you for this poem. I’ll go and scribble some car words of my own now! Wonderful prompt!
Allison
Why don’t cars mean more
to me than simply a way
to transport my books?
Mo, that was my first reaction when I saw this prompt. Cars haven’t been too important to me either.
Hey there, Mo — They sure do that well! Vroom! Susie
Oh, Mo, I GRINNED at this haiku! It reminds me of a card my sister sent me once: My car is really just a big purse. I know that it would be a rare day you could search my car and not find (several!) books!
<3
Agreed! It’s always a good policy to have a book of poetry in the car for when you get stopped by a train.
What a great idea. I live on a much-trained road. I will make sure I carry poetry. <3
Mo,
Imagine how happy your books are! I love this!
Mo, what a perfect haiku! That is one of the most important jobs of a car, to be sure. This made me laugh a lot! Fun.
Mo, Very funny! And I’m with you in this. (My wife and I can walk into a body shop, and when the mechanic (stereotypically) walks up to me to explain “the problem,” I simply gesture to my wife. She’s the “car person” in our family!)
Your first car was the safest.
Two-tone red and yellow
The body was disproportionately
Large in comparison to the wheels.
It best accommodated you alone
Though you managed to
Squeeze a buddy in upon occasion.
It was fuel efficient,
A quiet ride,
Environmentally friendly.
I can still hear the smooth thwhp
Of the door opening and closing,
a reminder that you were home safe.
You grew into it and
As you grew older,
It became your sanctuary,
Until you outgrew it entirely,
And moved on to
Rosie, your little red tricycle.
Dedicated to Little Tikes fans far and wide.
Katrina, this is precious! Those memories of the Little Tike car – yellow and red, foot-powered like on the Flintstones, only not Stone Age. I love what you did here!
I love this, Katrina! It’s so sweet. I think everyone knows exactly what you are talking about here.
Katrina — Oh! You gave me a giggle… those are hilarious little cars! I love that you opted for this little fun-mobile. I have a neighbor kid that tools around the cul-de-sac here on pretty days, his dad hot on his heels, keeping track of him. Sweet! Thanks for this choice for your poem. Susie
Ah, I have so many warm memories of the Little Tykes car. It was full of personality. I was an aunt when I was seven, and I had 8 nephews in the next ten years. I was always jealous I was too big for their fun vehicles! Very clever take on the prompt, Katrina. I love that you thought of everything–“…fuel efficient, A quiet ride, Environmentally friendly…” This all made me smile.
A great memory for all of us that had those”first” cars in our yards, driveways, and maybe even the house!
Kathy
I never realized how much I loved my first car–a rusty Chevy Venture. Thank you for the opportunity for me to reminisce. While this is not a refined poem like Susie’s awesome example, I had so much fun writing it. The nostalgia is real!
He was an ice skating zebra, white with a black stripe,
trying to control the icy fish tails of winter.
He was an awkward teenager
unaware of the horse power he contained
and learning to fit into his own, bulky body
into compact parking spots at GCHS.
Or, perhaps, that’s more indicative of the operator.
Maybe he was actually an old man
full of midwest highway adventures,
which might explain the rusty skirt,
the cigarette smoke sponged into the seats,
and why engaging the squeaky brakes caused
107.1 KISS FM to go static
until it was time to jam again.
He was not shiny like the others on the street, but
he had character. He was my savior from the bus,
the Chevy Cross shining brightly on his grill.
I was so proud to show him off
rust and all.
Rachelle,
I love this ode to your first car! Mine was well-loved but not so unique. I particularly like your second stanza where
Sounds like the quirks were half the fun. 🙂
Rachelle — I totally LOVE the personification of the Chevy Venture! How cool! I could see that winter fishtailing… the bulky body….the rusty skirt. And the smell of “cigarettes smoke sponged into the seats (great line). And I laughed at the brakes jolting the radio on KISSFM. HA! I feel the sense of pride in this poem…show that baby off! You bet! Wonderful poem! Thank you! Susie
So many wonderful descriptors in here, Rachelle. I love the shifting personification and how much that changes the perspective. That in itself is a great prompt/exercise. The cross/savior was unexpected, subtle, and poignant.
What a fabulous five days of poetry writing! Thank you so much Stacey, Kim, and Susie, and especially Sarah, for bringing us all together in the first place!
Susie, I’m not sure why your wonderful car prompt led my mind immediately to this, but I have flashed back on this scene many times and decided it was poem-worthy today –
New Jersey Parkway
the long drive home
his marbled urn on the floorboards
behind the driver’s seat
wedged between cooler and suitcase
out of sight and omnipresent
somewhere just outside of New York City
the fast-paced congested often nail-biting New Jersey Parkway
we were suddenly surrounded
in front of us, to our back, on both sides
instantaneously unexpectedly unwittingly
in the midst of a very tight swarm of cars
a caravan convoy community of coupes
Honda Subaru Audi Volkswagen Chevrolet more
a dozen or more two-door souped-up low to the ground
revving growling turbo-charged
flared tires, neon hubcaps, vivid stripes, spoilers
whizzing by and around us
and on the back of each car –
a large poster-size portrait of a gray-haired man
with the words
rest in peace
reminding
though grief is unique
we are all mourning
Maureen — there are so many layers. I keep reading your poem over and over. Wow! Your first stanza, with the mundane imagery juxtaposed with an urn caught my attention. The quick pace of the poem and the meaningful theme kept me enchanted by your writing throughout. Thank you for sharing today.
Maureen,
Wow! At the start of the poem I thought it was going in a direction I could anticipate, but you surprised me. I really like the synchronicity of the urn wedged in the back seat with the funeral procession of low riders. Beautifully poignant.
Maureen,
This is a touching reminder of community, if a shared experience. These lines in particular speak to me: “swarm of cars
a caravan convoy community of coupes
Honda Subaru Audi Volkswagen Chevrolet more…”Perhaps it’s the hum of alliteration, the in sync movement. Those final two lines are a perfect summation of the procession.
Oooo, totally fascinating, Maureen. What a strange coincidence! The urn in the first lines…gave me a serious and teary sort of feeling…one of those indelible moments. But the swarm of cars in a procession for the “gray-haired man” all around you on the truly white-knuckle Jersey Parkway…well, that was like having ravens fly over or an eagle soar along-side your car… that it has stuck with you… “poem worthy” indeed! I really found this touching and wonderful. I’m so glad that you turned this moment into a poem that you shared today. Thank you. Susie
This came out more prose-poemy than I intended, but it was fun to riffle through the memories.
My earliest memories of a vehicle in my childhood was
our broccoli colored 1972 Volkswagen van–
these were the days before seat belts and my brother and I
bounced around while my parents held on against the wind.
My dad’s 1940 gunmetal gray Ford Sedan took us to
rod runs, parades, and car shows. While my brother slept
on the back bench seat, my dad made me a platform on the floor.
I can still hear the gurgle and beat of the fuel filter.
My first car was a cream colored Toyota Corolla station wagon–
a hand-me-down from my mom “paid” for with seat belt wearing
credits for me and my friends without cars of their own.
I drove everywhere, fast (sorry Mother!) and feeling free.
When I was 18, I bought a brand new white Toyota Tercel.
It was a base model, but it got me across the country from
Sacramento, CA to Albany, NY for college, and back to the
west coast and Salem, OR for my (ex) husband’s federal job.
An evergreen RAV4 was my gift to myself after paying off my
student loans–my third stick shift in a row–peppy and useful.
When my son was two, I was T-boned, nearly totaled, and when
I was rear ended six months later, he wouldn’t ride in it again.
My sons named my Toyota Highlander Tinkerbell for her silver paint.
It was my first automatic (better for parents they said) and it
went all over the state for soccer and up to the San Juan Islands
and the top of the Rockies for my first single-parent-with-kids vacation.
Now I have a Cactus Mica Toyota Camry Hybrid–bought quickly
when Tinkerbell gave up the ghost. Back and forth to work, and
errands are the extent of Blossom’s adventures. I’m waiting a few
more years for my empty nest to get a jaunty car just for me.
It is just wild how each car brings back a chapter in one’s life! I, too, have vivid (and fond) memories of lying on the back bench seat – and even the floor boards! – and, like you, “I can still hear the gurgle and beat of the fuel filter.”
I thoroughly enjoyed each stanza! I felt like all of them took me on a unique ride through important stages of your life. From parades to vacations and from big life changes to mundane errands, I enjoyed going on this journey with you! Thanks for allowing me to be in the passenger seat!
Cara — It’s really interesting to follow the trail of cars. Picturing those pre-seatbelt days — all so seemingly carefree — and moving to more “responsible” and dutiful car choices…to hold kids and gear. I marveled that you went from stick shift to stick shift…and finally to that “better for parents” automatic — I remember that admonition as well… automatics were supposed to be safe. Hmm. I think we really do lay out our lives by the car choices/needs that we have. After reading about everyone’s cars all day, I am amazed at how I know everyone a little bit better through their cars. 🙂 Lovely. Thank you. Susie
Cars
Daddy bought a shiny red Willys Jeep
We were so proud
To be riding it topdown
Showing off to the crowd
I would swing the the flag. It was so grand
to be one of three sisters sitting in the back
in a parade following the band
Every weekend an adventure
we would leave the paved roads
hopping through the mud
bump and jumble just like the toads
Often getting stuck
then attaching a good wench
to pull us out of the ditch
up over a ledge and again we would rock
side by side in a sort of twitch
back to the city
Now I drive a conservative coach
chosen because it is tall
and easier to enter
for the disabled and all
Must have room for a wheelchair
art supplies and strong seatbelts
No one stares – there is no flare
Kind of boring
No more exploring
I long for the freedom and wind in my hair
the bright reds of a parade
the day will come because I have prayed
for a time when I no longer need
to be practical
I will give up the classical
for a red tiny sports-car.
Thank you so much, Stacey, Kim and Susie. As usual this ends too soon. Today was a busy day but I had a chance to sit down for a short time and remember Dad’s jeep. What fun we had.
This is really the cycle of life, I think, the “getting stuck”/”pulling us out of the ditch” years of youth that lead to the “conservative coach” …I really don’t miss those speedy days of youth….
Susan, thank you for taking us all with you on this journey of cars. I admire the motif of red throughout–it emphasizes the yearning embedded in the last line.
Susan — I love that Willys. My dad drove one and let me drive it every once in awhile when I was in college. Yours was clearly way nicer…red and the topdown. Love the idea of being in a car in a parade…such youth! Now the “coach”… the necessities versus the sporty fun. I sure get it! I like that you will throw caution to the wind and hope for that sports car. HA! Good for you! Susie
Susan, we have similar memories of the red Willy’s Jeep! ?
This literally took all day (well all lunch break and after school) to finish. I made my list of cars and felt like I could have written 15 poems. I never thought so much about the stories that cars keep! Thank you, Susie for this prompt and challenge.
Warning Signs
First ride I recall
Was Mom’s 1962 Buick Riviera
License plate ZUV 022
Then came the ultra fancy
Burgundy and white Buick Electra 225
Better known as
“A Deuce and a Quarter”
License plate 543 KAM
My mother had fine taste
In cars, she had style.
In 1979, I rode the public bus
Route 181
Smothered in pubescent funk
and nicotine clouds
In 1980, I sat on the back row
On cold, olive drab green seats
Of the yellow school bus
Trekking to the white school
An hour away from home
I got my license at 16 and
I inherited Dad’s Toyota Celica
We painted it metallic blue
License plate PRFT10
Don’t ask…long story!
I smoked cigarettes
And thumped my ashes out the window
That’s what cool kids did
After graduating UCLA in 1985
Mom and Dad tied a big bow
On top of my fire red
Mazda RX7
The fastest and sexiest car
I could imagine
But what were they thinking?
Never give a fast girl a fast car!
I got a diamond-lane ticket
Weeks after graduation.
A year later, my first speeding ticket
On Interstate 15 returning home
From my Las Vegas honeymoon
Back then, 80 mph in a 55 mph zone
Was reckless driving
Was that a sign
Of my reckless decision
To marry too young?
Then my Mazda was stolen
From in front of my apartment
Was that a sign
Of the man
Who would steal my joy?
Then I got hit in an intersection
Spun and barely missed a pole
Was that a sign
Of my life spinning out of control?
I sold that car
My sexy red, bad luck charm
And leased two Hondas
A black BMW and a Ford Expedition
The bigger the better right,
Especially with two kids in tow.
Then a sleek Buick Enclave
With heated seats
Drop-down TV screen
And a payment I couldn’t afford
Stole my heart
One small luxury in my life
Of big married miseries
But again, was that a sign
Of what looks good on the outside
Might be all wrong on the inside?
Since 2005, I’ve had two cars
My Nissan has lasted 11 years
The most rewarding relationship
I’ve ever had with a car
It will be hard to say goodbye
But I know the time is coming
I want a car that rides quietly
Economical on gas
And one that can love me
Until the end
Of my driving days
Then I will donate it to someone
Who wants a faithful lover
Without any warning signs.
©Stacey L. Joy, January 19, 2022
(I’ve always been a license plate memorizer, hence my remembering the first 2 cars of my childhood.)
Stacey, wow, I love how you remember the license plate numbers of these past cars and how you reflect the car with the relationship issues. Honestly, I understand the desire to have a car you can’t afford and I’ve been feeling that pull lately wanting to replace my responsible economical car for something roomy and oh so comfortable. I agree a car that is faithful “without any warning signs” is a definite plus! Your poem is refreshingly honest and revealing and shows a great deal about life and life changes. I had to laugh at the cigarette reference as I remember doing the same thing and once almost having an accident because a cigarette ember flew back inside the car and was burning the bottom of my seat! Thanks for sharing such a thought-provoking poem! Beautifully written! Thank you!
I must confess, an ember got knocked off when I tried to turn with one hand (holding the cigarette) and landed on my leg. I bumped into the car in front of me! Thank goodness no damage! I was a lot to handle as a young woman! Lol!
Too funny!
Yes, indeed, the stories cars hold! Love ‘driving through the years’ with you, with this poem, and I laughed laughed laughed at –
Stacey,
I e waited all day for this poem! You know that. This phrase: “stories that cars keep!” evokes an image of the cat trunk and packing that sucker. I’m gonna have to write a poem based on that line. Love the Mazda stories! “Never give a fast girl a fast car”! ? You wild woman! Boy we could have had some fun back in the day. I had fun traveling down I-15 w/ you. I know that stretch of road. Fun poem!
Stacey — You have a remarkable memory! License plate #s!!! Holy cow! I so enjoyed your Mama’s good taste in cars. That Rivera was one sexy car…the back end…ooo! Downright nasty! LOL! I loved it. I totally LOVED “deuce and a quarter”! I have to steal that idea…love it. “Never give a fast girl a fast car.” Oh I hear that! And stolen! Dang! The nerve! Susan A’s poem has a stolen car too…what crummy luck. I totally liked the parallels of cars to marriages and men…and the spin out of control parallel. And the outside vs the inside…yeah…got some metaphors going here…cars do reflect our lives in so many ways. And in the end, let’s just find a “faithful lover.” 🙂 Yes! Totally fun to read! Love, Susie
Stacey, Stacey, some of your memories seem similar to mine. I’m glad you included that last line. I was wondering how you could remember the plates-excellent visual memory. Of course, I can relate to the bus ride. I love that you gave us a teaspoon of a peek into your life through the lens of a car. I love the questions you asked and I’m sure you have answers for them. I too, want what you do, a car eventually that rides quietly, is
Economical on gas
And one that can love me
Until the end
Of my driving days
Then I will donate it to someone
Who wants a faithful lover
Without any warning signs.
This is is from your heart and is brilliant. Thank you.
Susie,
What a wonderful inspiration! And, I love the process you share. It really helps to elicit details.
I actually recycled a poem I wrote a few years back about my many Toyotas.
Life by Toyota
Life’s stages in four vehicle purchases
Camry
1989 Sedan
White with navy interior
First big adult purchase
Paid sticker price . . . sucker
Bit off more than a new teaching salary could afford
Great gas mileage
To and from work
Road trips . . . Greencastle, Btown, Indy, Evansville
Cooler in the trunk
Bud Light
Overnight bag in the back seat
Container of Hot Tamales in the console
Indigo Girls and Floating Men ride along
Wash and vacuum weekly
A fumey smell from the interior that won’t go away
But still, pride
Roadtrip to Indy 500
Parked where others were
Behind a suburban
Loaded with luggage, cooler, food, golf clubs, tent, junk
“I don’t see my car!”
“Maybe it’s farther down the street”
“No . . . I parked behind that suburban”
Sheet of glass all that remained
Called the police from a house with dirt floors
“You should have known better than to park
In front of the projects”
Took us to the 7-11
Dropped us off
“We bikers are good people”
Weeks later spotted being driven around downtown circle.
Hot pursuit
Crash
Flee
Towed back to Jasper
Totaled
End of the Camry
Life span . . . less than a year
Couldn’t afford much even with insurance.
Took a Toyota break and got a
Mitsubishi Gallant.
Yearned for something more.
4-Runner
SUV
Gold with grey interior
TIme to move on to adventure
Time to be cool
Leased . . . couldn’t afford it otherwise
Fewer reasons to hit the road
Good thing . . . crappy gas mileage
Perfect for a small family
10,000 Maniacs and The Cranberries
Rear-ended at the bottom of the Y
Elisabeth in back . . . the fear in a wreck takes on new weight
Two kids brought home from hospital,
Two car seats
Then . . .
No room for others between those clunky seats
Time to move sights to a family roadster
Sienna
Mini-van
The swagger wagon
First, one green with grey cloth interior
Driver’s AND passenger’s manual doors
Easy to get kids in and out
And room for more
Travel TV strapped onto a crate
Travel TVs strapped onto the backs of front seats
Stroller in back
Diaper bag behind driver’s seat loaded with necessities
Mirror on the back of the seat so baby’s faces can be seen
Beatles for Babies and Raffi cassettes blasting from the speakers
I gave up cool
Serious adulting now.
Road trips to parties and college campuses replaced
by trips to the park and library and Holiday World and the
Free Wednesday movies at the cinema
Spinning through the McDonald’s drive-thru for Happy Meals
Not nearly as cool as 2:00 a.m. Taco Bell and White Castles binges
Many many miles
Dings and dents and destroyed
Time to replace and upgrade . . .
Metallic blue paint
Leather, power doors, more cargo space
Four kids
Star of the week decides who gets the middle row seat next to Jack
Me in a row by myself 99.6% of the time
Four littles making messes and leaving stuff behind
Drink spills, dropped french fries, wrappers strewn about
A random sock, ponytail holders, Gameboy cartridges
Tim McGraw and Dixie Chicks my vibe when I get to choose
Ball game after ball game after ball game
Rolling bat bags and team snacks
Muddy cleats
Brick dust caked on pants
Tennis tourney after tennis tourney after tennis tourney
tennis bags bigger than them
water jugs
maybe a snack or two
no cooler of fresh fruit and silver dollar sandwiches though
Lots of miles put on those two Siennas
Lots of trips to games and school and daycare.
Lots of left turns.
Lots of right turns.
Fly up Celestine Highway, turn right up the hill into Rita’s
Fly back and head to work.
Fly down Shelyn Drive, turn left into ‘Cole’s driveway,
Fly down Kluemper and off to work.
Pull into PBS, idle in line, pull away from PBS.
Take Sixth Street in the early years and later St. Charles and head back to work.
Highlander
It was time.
(Jack cemented the decision by making the driver door inoperable)
Time to move past the mini-van and all the stereotyping that goes with it.
Time to get something decidedly more “cool.”
So, the vehicle hunt begins . . .
a car? a crossover? a Jeep?
Nah.
I want the whole family–all six of us–to be able to fit in it.
Even though events calling for all of us to fit in it are infrequent
Church some Sundays in the summer and at holidays.
The very rare road trip or family getaway
There’s just something about wanting everyone to have a seat.
Just like I want everyone to have a bed in our home even though some
are rarely there,
I want everyone to have a seat in the car.
I test drive
An Encore, an Edge
A Highlander.
It’s familiar.
The dials and the buttons and the instruments and the “feel”
Are all familiar
I drive solo most places
Am I glad?
Gone is the incessant chatter.
Gone is the incessant chatter.
Gone are the messes.
No more taxi service.
I can commandeer the radio
XM radio
audio books bluetoothed
I’m alone. Solo. Lonely? or Alone?
Toyota.
You make a vehicle for every stage of life.
To move from young and independent
To young and married
To young and tiptoeing into parenthood
To being fully swallowed up in the chaos of a family of six
To feeling liberated of needing the space that family requires
All of these stages
so diverse
so different
so defining
All of these memories
And the emotions
that aren’t going anywhere.
I asked for it. I got it.
Toyota.
Susan, I think I just may need to ask you when it’s time for me to make my next decision on a car. Your poem gives such interesting details that have “Rate This Car” kind of vibes. I remember the french fries in between seats like it was yesterday. But I am with you now on the solo rides and being in charge of my audiobooks and music. It’s the best! I don’t miss car arguments, drop-offs/pick-ups, drive-thrus, etc.
I enjoyed taking this ride with you and I will have to consider Toyota as another possible option!
Fun journeys!
Susan — You unfolded a whole life here…right down the pavement, car by car. Each stage was loaded with a sense of momentum, like the engines where running. The stolen Camry (I had a Camry back in that era…it was deemed “the most stolen car in American” at one point I think. What a bite! The 4-Runner wreck with the kids inside…omg… I held my breath through that stage. The detritus of driving kids around… that was so clear and real. I loved “swagger wagon.” Great term! The poem takes on a sort of nostalgia or melancholy as you roll into the desire to have a car that holds the whole clan. A sort of holding onto each kid via the available seat. Quite tender. I sure enjoyed the sense of family and family life in your poem. Thanks for the memories! Susie
Susie, this was a lot of fun! Such vivid details throughout. I loved the clever connections you made – “life pulling to the left / in tortile alignment” and “always downshifting / through a life” especially. Thank you for this prompt today!
_________________________________________
So, okay, it had
the engine equivalent
of a lawn mower,
not a fancy
John Deere
sit down affair either
decked out with a Sleeve
Hitch and a heated seat,
multiple cup holders,
whatever, no, this was just
above a push mower, and,
really, so what if it was
named the “ultimate
automotive failure” and
hailed as the “Worst Car
in History.”
My college Yugo
was amaz–
Okay, it really wasn’t
that great,
but I really did like it.
Honestly.
Yes, at times, I had to
roll down the driver’s
side window in the rain
to swat at the outside
of the windshield with
a washcloth because
the wiper blades were
broken (or just generally
ill equipped to handle
the weather)
and it had its gas cap
stolen and its stereo stolen,
and it would shake
uncontrollably when
driving on the expressway.
It was still the car I learned
to drive stick on, still the
car that drove me to college
and brought me to you.
So, all in all,
pretty cool.
Scott,
I loved your story and I’m hoping you read it to your special someone tonight and they smile as you read these lines.
It was still the car I learned
to drive stick on, still the
car that drove me to college
and brought me to you.
So touching and so sweet. Fantastic!
Scott, what a tribute a car bygone. I has uncontrollably laughing to myself at the “uncontrollable shaking” of your Yugo.
Oh Lordy, Scott — I’m laughing and there are tears here…lolololol. A YUGO! HA! What a car…my brother bought a used Yugo for his daughters (or maybe they bought it), but it was one truly abysmal train wreck of a car. I love how it served you well despite the washcloth wiper moves…AHAHA. The shaking “uncontrollably…on the expressway”… oh man! I just love that this was you poem’s car tonight. Just really a stitch. Love it. Susie
Scott I love your car too! When you talk about rolling down the driver’s window in the rain it brought memories to me of my VW square back that had the floorboards rusted out. I could see the highway below and in the rain all the water came inside and slushed around my feet when I put on the brakes.
What memories!!!
Loved this, Scott. A quirky car with its associated memories is the best!
My favorite lines:
to drive stick on, still the
car that drove me to college
Dear Teacher-Poets — I’ve been reading your poems off and on all day long, and I am just LOVING the car images, the narratives, the strong voices wrapped into that upholstery and on that pavement. I’m looking forward to reading more as the evening rolls on! Fill up your tank and clock some more miles! Susie
Susie, these amazing stories might be the beginnings of new anthology…….
I loved writing mine today even though it didn’t come to be as quickly as I had hoped. I can’t wait to get settled in this evening to read all the other poems. So grateful for this day and for you!
?
Susie, what a fun prompt. I enjoyed recalling a lot of old cars I drove. I wished I had more time to write today, but it is one of those days where I have one too many irons in the fire. Anyway, my poem is focused on my first car that my dad bought me for 500 bucks and I didn’t even know how to drive. He needed me to pick up my younger siblings, etc. and I was responsible and did those duties, but I sure had a lot of fun when I could.
My first car
‘64 rumbling Rambler
Cherry red, with fold down front seats
A V-8 transmission,
Made it super sweet
First Avenue was my playground
Windows rolled down
Revving my engine
I’d holler,
“Wanna run ‘em!”
My accelerator pressed to the floor
My spirits soared
Relishing my first superseded
Taste of freedom
Barb Edler
19 January 2022
Barb, I can see you speeding along First Avenue looking for races. Oh, my goodness – the thrill of speed in a ’64 with fold down seats!!!! What memories you must have. I’d have been in soooooo much trouble……..thanks for the ride today!
Change of word: I’d have GOTTEN in so much trouble……found it, kept finding it…..
Holy mackerel — An 8-cylinder Rambler! You must have been insane with the horsepower! LOL! I love love love thinking of you hollering out the window “Wanna run ’em!” OMG! Hilarious! Barb, you are a wild thang! Freedom indeed! This is just a blast! I love it! I’m glad you shared this today when you had your plate already loaded! Thank you! Susie
I love the imagery here: “‘64 rumbling Rambler
Cherry red, with fold down front seats.”
Other than getting into the backseat, why would you fold down the front seats? 🙂
Did your Rambler have pushbuttons?
I don’t think so and I never took advantage of the front seats! Definitely a strange feature.
Barb, what a great form for this poem. The rhyming is great and lends itself to the topic, for sure. (I think my sister had a Rambler, but hers was not “super sweet” or had an engine to rev.) My first was a cherry red car too , but when I would rev the engine of my little station wagon at an intersection, it was just to be silly. When the light turned green, I would just stumble off while the person next to me would vroom away! Very fun poem!
Susie, Stacey, and Kim, thank you all for a fabulous five day write. I appreciate your time and creativity! May words be with you!
Thank you, Barb! I am so thankful we all had a great 5-day launch into 2022’s Open Write! Stay safe! I’m already excited for February. ❣️
66 Car Poem for My Father
If my father had a
love affair with cars—
as most American men—
you’d never know it from the
rusty jalopies transporting
us to and from church
three times a week & to
every revival service in between.
Dad’s cars lacked horsepower
required to carry him to
the American Dream
promised along the Mother
Road. Although we lived
near Route 66 & traversed it’s
concrete slabs frequently
between Joplin, Missouri &
Pitcher, Oklahoma, getting our
kicks on that road felt like
changing a flat tire & praying
the jack holds & drunk drivers
stayed in their lanes & off the
shoulder. The good lord didn’t
design a Ford Fairlane with an
engine that caught fire for going places.
I imagine the closest my father
came to driving west into the
sunset & the California dream was
brushing up against those iconic
symbols of American prosperity
while pumping gas at the full-service
station where he worked wiping
bug-splattered windshields &
checking the oil gauge in some
other man’s Thunderbird. His life—
like that Fairlane—idled in neutral—
going nowhere fast.
—Glenda Funk
Glenda, your poem is so rich with clear descriptions of the Ford Fairlane, your travels to revivals, and the lack of excitement it created. The contrast between the desire to achieve the American Dream and the inability to achieve it was completely transparent at the end with your dad checking the oil gauge of a Thunderbird. Your final lines are incredibly powerful “—idled in neutral—
going nowhere fast.” It makes me think of a lot of failed dreams, broken relationships, and the grit to move on anyway. Heavy stuff here, but I love how it sharply reveals reality.
Glenda — What a poem! Oh wow…that is some sorry car mojo there. The images of the car on the side of the road with a flat…such a bummer image…and true, the prayer no one hit your dad or the car. The tone of this is just so perfect…the sense of a rusted car out there missing those kicks on Route 66. But the ending image of your dad scraping bugs off the windshield of “some/other man’s Thunderbird.” Boy, that is the kick alright. Oh man. “Idled in neutral — going nowhere fast.” Whew! What a car and life image this is! I love how you take that “American Dream” to task in this poem. Fine poem! Fine! Hugs, Susie
Glenda, you got to travel Route 66?? How exciting! Now I know where some of your sense of adventure originated. I love this part:
The good lord didn’t
design a Ford Fairlane with an
engine that caught fire for going places.
Oops….I hit send too quickly. I like more than just that part, but that’s the part I like best because you use humor and the imagery that pops up is pretty incredible – – kind of like one of those drag races with fire coming out the end. I also love the idea of traveling versus going somewhere. I see here that you have drawn a clear line of distinguishing between the two. Fun to read, and I always enjoy your adventures!
This is just wild – how, through storytelling/poetry-writing about cars – we see and understand people better! I feel as if I met your Dad through your words here. This is so painfully fabulous –
Glenda, this pulled me right in. I want to explore the life your father lived and find all the reasons for his life that “idled in neutral” because I know there’s a story.
Your details of the journeys you all took are clear and hold emotions that I feel from the page!
I’d love to hear you read this one aloud.
?
Thanks Susie for allowing me to revisit my beloved first car…….
1968 VW BUG DJ
I returned home after freshman year
Mom was thrilled to see me but annoyed after 3 days
with my constant request to use her car, so she called
my Dad and they discussed a car for me for the summer.
A week later, he called to inform me he’d bought me a
great used car. I “bused” it over to his house and was
highly offended to see a rusty old used-to-be gray 1968 VW Bug
sitting in front of his place. He hastily explained that it was a stick-shift,
that he had to go to work, didn’t have time to teach me to drive it,
was going to get it painted in a few weeks and that he loved me.
He handed me the keys and left.
Initially, I abhorred that ugly vehicle but my BFF Mark was more excited
than I was. He patiently drove me around Morningside Park showing how to ease
off the clutch moving from gear to gear. I didn’t like that car initially because it was ugly and it kept abruptly halting on me. Every time Mark would get in with me, I would get into the passenger seat but he would make me drive. After about a week, the gear easily went in and I moved from hate to like with my car.
A few weeks later, my dad fulfilled his promise and painted the car. Buster, the toothless and fussy mechanic with a jheri curl painted my car a gorgeous burgundy. My “like” turned to admiration and respect especially because of the attention I received from other VW drivers.
I had that car 3 summers and 4 winters whenever I was home from College. I named it Don Juan, DJ for short. It was magnificent when it was running well but I have to admit it did break down from time to time. Once after a phenomenal all day outdoor Summer concert, the Budweiser Superfest, DJ, my friend, and I were headed up a hill in traffic going home in Pasadena at midnight. My car decided to just overheat and stop in the middle of traffic. People were pissed, I was embarrassed and concerned about Buster fussing at me and thinking about money to fix the car. Thankfully a VW expert came out of nowhere and was able to do something to get the car started. I remember he told me, “Don’t let your car cut off, keep your foot on the gas until you get home, no matter what.” That was a challenge and I remember crying tears of joy when I made it home safely. I knew my dad probably wouldn’t come get me, my mom was out of town and I didn’t want to wake up Mark’s family.
That mostly splendid car with the triangular window took me safely along the coast of California, visiting many friends, to my various summer and Winter jobs, to church, malls, and other places 20 year olds lie to frequent.
I was heartbroken one day during my senior year when my dad called me to say that DJ had been stolen from his garage. He said his garage lock had been broken, the back door had been kicked in and the car was gone. I cried.
After graduation, my mom got a more reliable car for me. I named it DJ and it was a Nissan but it wasn’t the same.
Seana — I loved how this prompted a full-on narrative from you. There really is something about a first car…and DJ…LOLI I loved that. You captured that herky-jerky clutch…driving a manual transmission, well that’s dandy. I think you have a lot of writing that you could do with DJ…The Adventures of DJ and Seana, Road Warriors! Such a fun memory you have here! Thank you! Susie
Thank you Susie
Seana, wow, what a story about your VW. I love that it was painted burgundy…I bet it was gorgeous, and I didn’t learn how to drive a stick until I met my husband and he had a little Love truck I needed to drive. Thanks for sharing DJ’s story. I’m so sorry it was stolen. Such a sad end for something that brought you so much joy!
Seana, so funny that Buster had a curl and was toothless! I cracked up at that! How sad that we have both experienced stolen cars. I wonder today if it is as much an issue since it seems everyone has alarms. I don’t think I’ve ever thought about the triangular window until now. My closest cousin and my aunt had VWs so I instantly pictured that window.
Your story is one worth keeping for your children and grands someday!
The “Town & Country” in the City
By: Emily Yamasaki
roomy enough
for four kids to get changed for swim practice
while cruising down the 91 afterschool
safe enough
for naps in the seat
commuting each of us to our extracurriculars
first born, passenger
second/third born, middle row
the baby, the vast back row
all to herself
the “soccer mom” van
without the “soccer”
exterior snow white paint
gleaming
it truly is a mystery, how
it always passed
the finger dust check
Emily — The title kicks it off to be a fun car (town and country in the city…lol). Those haul-mobiles were family duty all the way, and I loved the image of you kids scrambling to change clothes while your mom blasted down 91. My favorite part is the caste system of where kids sit in the family car. Heaven help a kid in the wrong seat! AHAHA! I have a cousin who still drives that car…and I was lucky enough to haul all the way to PA to see my sister in November…dang, the car had power that my Honda CRV only wishes it had. 🙂 I totally enjoyed this ride. Thank you! Susie
Emily,
When I realized this was your childhood vehicle, I didn’t expect dust. Isn’t it strange how I feel like I know so much about you and your family (only from your poetry) that I would know this Town and Country van is spic and span clean! That’s a testament to your poetry! Thank you for keeping it real!
I would love to know how any parent kept a car clean with children! ?
Strong imagery. The kids changing on the highway – fast-paced action, to them sleeping soundly is a lovely sense of movement in this poem. We often joke about why city folk buy trucks, but I say folks gotta haul stuff. Your ‘soccer mom’ without the soccer made me think of that and laugh. Moms gotta haul kids!
Susie, this was fun! And I enjoyed your poem. My favorite line…
“it mattered not what we could afford,
cars forever
caulked into the corners
of my imagination,
purred with the whirr of wind
through the venting wing windows;
early listening laid tracks in the vinyl
of my love and life with cars,
burned rubber”
This was very vivid as it sparked interest in my imagination. You know your way around cars. I thought I would have a hard time talking about a vehicle, but apparently, all I needed was a kickstart to reminisce fond memories.
Ode to Deville
Caddy, my ancient ride or die, your heavy cream color which is supposed to be white, but washed away returning to focus.
You were one year younger than me, yet had been through so much more.
Caddy, the family vehicle, that ventured to Easter church services and country rides to Altheimer to Grandmother and Grandpa’s house.
Caddy, the ride to the bus garage, where my Daddy earned extra income before and after teaching art.
When You became my ride, I thought I was Queen of Old School, rolling into the high school campus on two wheels,
Watching 1990s red Chevy trucks with Confederate flag plate covers whiz by, second-hand cousins’ cars, a person sandwiched between seatbelts, and brand new parent-bought bribes double-parked and didn’t care.
Traveling through the streets, Antique White walls no riding spinnas for real, but blasting the lyrics because I’m feeling my youth, battle scars from shopping carts in parking lots and keystrokes from nervous hands.
Oh Caddy! I took many scandalous rides, those snitching breaks almost getting me caught coasting from boys’ to mens’ mama’s houses.
You were my way out, a way in, and a way through.
A way out of the house, a way in to work, and a way through to fit into the party scene.
You were definitely not for racing; found that out the hard way.
You were never right after then, but I never told Daddy, who got it back after I got my next ride to college.
As the years pushed on, your locks jammed from coming and going so much.
Your shocks shot, maneuvering over speed bumps and potholes.
Your soft purring graduated to roaring hacks.
And the doomed emblem, an infamous icon, snatched unnoticed one day or night, from its Silvery Moonlight pedestal.
I will always remember you Caddy,
tucked away in my Daddy’s garage, but not forgotten.
You’re the backup ride to his Corvette, so the love is still there.
I bid adieu to my First Love, my Ride or Die.
Jessica — The caddie! And a Deville at that! Ooo, baby, what a car! What a ride! I love how you took me along over the years and over those speed bumps and potholes. Every bit was real…jammed locks, parking lot dings, the “shocks shot” (ha, of course). I was lucky enough to experience the caddie ride with an uncle and my cousins after church on Sundays, rolling through different parts of town…I was totally smitten by how smooth the ride was and how looooooong the body of that car was! You were a frisky kid, driving that flashy car…I love that image. And then the ol’ beauty “tucked away…in the garage” relegated to “backup ride”…and to a Corvette no less! Aah, CARS! Great stuff!
Yes, I had a classic! I had some of the best memories in that car. Thanks for riding along.
Jessica, your poem is reminding me of childhood rides in my uncle’s Caddy. I loved the lines,
I took many scandalous rides, those snitching breaks almost getting me caught coasting from boys’ to mens’ mama’s houses.
You were my way out, a way in, and a way through.
A way out of the house, a way in to work, and a way through to fit into the party scene.
Your descriptions are taking me back…..I love the way you said a car was a way out and a way in and a way through. That is so powerful even to this day.
Thank you for this!! Fabulous job.
Seana, I was reminded of the ad lib of church song. It was fitting! Thank you so much!
Susie, you never cease to amaze and inspire me. I will be posting my poem later today because I started my list this morning and found I had owned and lived with way too many cars! LOL.
Your poem’s ending affirms my wonderings about which car will be next for me. I am approaching the end of the road for the car I currently drive and have been pondering which one will be next. I literally told my friend, “This next car needs to be my last car.” Yikes, reading your poem spoke to my heart and my age.
I don’t wear my heels anymore and my life is aiming for being rich, not in cars but in stories! Thank you, my dear!
Much love!
Cars, Cars, Cars Will Take You Far
I grew up in Motown
We always heard the sound
Of cars cruising and speeding all around
But, riding the bus kept me out of the crush
Of the real cars and dream cars in my head
I had tuition to pay and lunch to buy
I couldn’t afford a car. I had to be fed
Expressways to carry those fancy cars
Out of the city and out to the ‘burbs
Separated neighborhoods by color
Leaving many of us on the curbs.
Working for GM, or Chrysler or Ford
Determined the house that you could afford
Cars, cars, cars, always in a rush
Got in the way for folks like me
Students who had to ride the bus
I watched from the side, watching others ride
Up and down the street back and forth to meet
That guy they liked or that girl so sweet
The car you drove would help you arrive, true.
Back then, cars determined who was who.
The kind of car you would drive
Could hold you down or help you survive
And even move up the ladder!
Why did cars matter?
Social gatherings started in the parking lot
Folks assumed folks’ status by the kind of car they got
Escorted to the front when the in-groups met
We on the side wondered whether or not we’d ever be in that set.
I’d cringe, green with envy, I didn’t have squat!
I’d watch them adjusting thin ties, flaunting wide hats,
Jealously inhaling the olfactory flume of expensive perfume
Catching folks’ eyes as they strutted through the room
Smirking at those who stood in the back
Smiling with green cheeks. Nodding with tack.
Yes, I learned to skin and grin, believing that one day I
Would own the kind of car that would make you want to cry.
http://www.ethicalela.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/01/GMChryslerFord.jpg
Oh, Anna — This tells such a true tale. The car as a status symbol…heaven knows, that’s what made Ford, Chevrolet, and all the rest the zillions of dollars they snatched from the hands of every buyer they could tap. I love the perspective of watching …that sense of sidelines…”catching folks’ eyes” and “watching others”… I added to that thought as my dad would not let me drive till I was in college…jeez, I was pulsing with the desire to be behind the wheels of a car…any darned car actually. It had a profound effect on me…that was a deprivation that caused me to forever covet the look of a cool car. Mind you, I’ve never ever owned a totally cool car, but I have never not loved them. I love the last line…and I want to know if you drive a car that’d make me “want to cry”! Ha! Thanks for the poem today…such a clear perspective. Susie
Anna,
I love these lines
I was thinking about the bus and bikes and legs and wheelchairs when I first read the prompt today, imagining all the ways people move around places.
And I think that the bus allows for affordances that are not financial, like the wonderings in this poem and the perspective you offer in retrospect.
Also, I can’t help but notice the presence of “green”– paint chips from yesterday.
Anna, thank for for the healthy perspective. It reminds me of what my mother used ot tell me. It doesn’t matter what type of car you drive, what matters is what kind of person you are. Skinning and grinning- I grew up hearing that too. Thanks
Anna, my favorite line from your poem is “Folks assumed folks’ status by the kind of car they got.” It is amazing that the same cars and roads which allow us to come together are the same cars and roads that divide us. Especially meaningful is the setting of your poem, Motown, the heart of the American car industry.
Anna, the subtle connections in your piece (Motown and the sound of cars) layer in depth. I love the flow throughout the poem, and the sense of place you share. My grandmother grew up in Detroit so I appreciate all the glimpses I get into that world.
Jennifer, you demonstrate how others see clever features in a poem the author did not preplan. Motown and the sound of music! Love it! I could take credit for being a clever writer. Instead, I’ll commend you for being an insightful reader. Thanks for pointing that double entendre!
Great story, Anna. I was waiting to read about Bill’s blue car on Zion Hill, as well. This prompt has brought back the memories, true?!
I especially like the last part of catching the folks’ eyes as they strutted through the room smirking, adjusting their thin ties…
“squirrel-n-whirl engine”
Thank you Susie for a cool Prompt!!
Let’s Ride back to 1985
I was ten in nineteen eighty-five
Backwoods, we ain’t posed to drive.
Down South, No worry,
You learn to drive in a hurry.
Tilling pastures for Paw-Paw,
Running errands for Maw-Maw.
John Deere tractors and beat up cars,
Wrecked a few, still got the scars.
Just different back then,
Cousin had a Buick, so we’d all piled in.
Fishtailing down old dirt drives,
Spinning 360’s, slappin’ high fives!
Take the calico dodge through the mud,
Drive because kinfolk was drinking sud.
Plow a field, haul the hay,
Bootleg go-carts – all in one day!
Carve doughnuts with the three-wheeler,
Rev up the Mustang Mach- 1- just to feel her.
This was a time when,
A smashed Chevy was your best friend.
Sad to say
But those times have passed away.
Now everyone washes their pristine trucks,
No comradery, just show off the bucks.
Yesterday, I passed by Paw-Paw’s field,
I saw um’ sitting on flat wheels.
In my Toyota, I eased off the pedal,
Reminisced about the rusted metal.
Bronze statues staring back,
Looking at me through windshields cracked.
Pushing the brake to a complete halt,
I wondered what that “rust” thought.
A shiny red Hummer flies by,
Loud music, fancy for the eye.
Young teenagers making their own,
Smiling, taking pictures with their phone.
It was just different back then,
Riding around with family and friends.
The sun danced off the Mustang’s chrome,
Reminding me of a time long gone.
The tractor hidden by corn stalks,
Made me question, is it all my fault?
Unbalanced in Two- thousand twenty-two,
Why don’t I let my kids do, what I used to?
Boxer! This is terrific. The nostalgia is just so rich. The juxtaposition of old and new…that Hummer, (oh man!) and the “flat wheels” in the field. Time’s sure do rattle on. The couplets really make the poem move with the pump of the accelerator. Since I grew up way out in the country, I sure felt the excitement of all that wild driving…tractors, and whatever old rolling crate was available. My eldest sister drove an old flatbed truck up and down the road from the farmhouse to the mailbox, and I was so gob-struck by that freedom that I’ll never forget it. She was awesome driving that old thing. Your poem brought that all back to me. Love it! Thank you. Susie
Boxer, your vivid descriptions capture scenes so new to many of us that we feel like we were there!
Today’s prompt made many of us do what you suggest in these lines
In my Toyota, I eased off the pedal,
Reminisced about the rusted metal.
Thanks for taking us on a ride by your side!
Boxer, the fun of growing up in the country on dirt roads and farms is second to none. I love these lines best, because I can see the mud-bogging, free wheeling images as they unfold:
Fishtailing down old dirt drives,
Spinning 360’s, slappin’ high fives!
Take the calico dodge through the mud,
Drive because kinfolk was drinking sud.
Plow a field, haul the hay,
Bootleg go-carts – all in one day!
I can see the rural Georgia dirt road dust settling as you spin out…….
Susie—your last stanza tugged at my heart. So true—the downshifting through life, last car, last dog… having the same thought today. Once again, a beautiful, quixotic prompt and a memorable poem!
Susie—what an inspiration! I traveled through all the cars of my life, riding in the back of the blue station wagon, hiding on the floor over bridges, rSunday drives with my grandfather… thanks for the memories, my dear. But then I settled on the car love of my life…
First Car
‘63
Ford Falcon
Convertible, fifty dollars.
Black outside, red inside
My first taste of freedom.
The hand choke started that baby
On the coldest Buffalo winter days, once
I cleared the snow. But on summer days,
Oh. Then, the freedom was real. Lower the top,
Turn up the eight track, and the world was mine!
I didn’t know how lucky I was.
Gayle Sands 2/19/21
Aw, Gayle — I LOVE this. The Falcon…yeah, there’s a Falcon in my past as well, so I’m right there with you. You had that classy black/red/and “lowered the top”…Whoa, Baby! ! I’d forgotten about the darned choke. And the 8-track…ahaha! This was a journey full of candy for me. Thank you! I really enjoyed this ride. Susie
Gayle, This line has me intrigued, thinking of language, jargon, and expressions: “The hand choke started that baby.” Love the “turn up the eight track” and how that with the top down gives the speaker the elusive freedom. And then the final word in past tense ” was” and wondering what still is and can be just in remembering.
Peace,
Sarah
It’s so funny to read how little money we all paid out for these first used cars, but it was SO MUCH money to us then, and what it bought us, as your poem shows, truly was priceless. Love the nod to Buffalo. I’m in Michigan, and y’all win there for cold and snow! What a lovely memory capsule this poem is. Thanks, Gayle!
Like a centrifuge, this spins out memories and feelings by the fistful. Always wished for an 8-track, but was well satisfied by the hit parade of love on the AM band. Me and my Galaxy. Thanks for the evocation of power.
Oi! Cars is such a GREAT prompt idea! Love this one, Susie, and I am going to use this with my students! Though my heartstrings were certainly pulled at the mentions of “last” – last car, last dog. I get it. So bittersweet. Today, though, it was the bikes in my life that took my fancy.
Biking Back
When my parents decided to move
& empty every nook and cranny
of the thirty-year homestead
where they raised eight kids
Mom asked us each – “What do you want?”
While siblings sifted through
furniture, dishes, artwork, tools, & tchotchke
my response was swift & unchallenged
“I want your bikes.”
The two beat-up Schwinn
three-speed Suburbans
sat flat-tired & rusting
in the basement
resting after decades of
carrying our thin pumping legs
ram shackling down
alleyways & streets
taking us to school, to jobs
to the beach in the summer
helping us learn
basic mechanics & how to care
for a thing you own
Now each summer
I pull them up from the basement
pump the tires, lube the chains
kickstand them in the garage
& sunny breezy days
saddle up & turn the cranks
hair flapping in the wind
the clickety clack of the prawls
as I coast through the city streets
fat rubber tires take me wandering
back to my youth
Oh, Denise — Yes, those old bicycles! Terrific! I think you made a grand selection to nab those Schwinns. Bicycles are an amazing ride…I’m an avid biker myself. I smiled at the balloon tires and those “thin pumping legs.” How did we do that? I didn’t bat an eye at hills, even with the balloon tires. Now, I look at a slight undulation in the bike path I often use and groan…LOL! I could just see/hear the “hair flapping…the clickety clack” … what a ride! I commend you for preserving the bikes and for bringing them to use today. Super. Keep on riding! Susie
Denise, the memories on bikes are as rich, if not richer, than on cars. The fun of the breeze in our hair, having full freedom to go places before we could drive……and the memories of the bikes that took us places with family. Living in the country, I don’t have a good place to ride like I did when I was growing up, and I miss being able to go out and just ride.
Your too and fro memory ride is like a loom shuttle, back and forth in time, feedback and feedforward. T.S. Eliot called these (bike, take what you want, fat tires, hair flapping, and more) objective correlatives. Maybe a simpler term might be ‘touchstones’ that we all share like some kind of collective memory. Thanks.
This is a story about my father and a car. Inspired by you and it makes me realize how many more stories I have about cars like hearing the Star Wars theme for the first time driving my Ford Galaxy 500 to work, bootlegging in the same car, learning to use a three on the tree stick with my wife teaching me, chauferring my family in a 1960 Cadillac limo, etcetera and so on and oobiedoobiedoo.
My dad had just bought a VW Rabbit. I don’t know why he loved that fucking car. Driving home from my cello practice in Louisville, we crossed over the nearly empty Geo. Rogers Clark Bridge (or the Second Street Bridge, depending on if you were a Kentuckian or a Hoosier).
I don’t know why, but he turned to me and said, “Wanna see how fast this will go?”
If you knew my father, you might be tempted to the disbelief showing on my face. He never speeded. My mother even chided him on the total regular, “Eli, you drive like an old man.”
And he did, but not this time. He dropped the pedal to the metal on that VW Rabbit and began to grin like a gibbpn, reciting the speed as he crossed the mighty Ohio and I just held on.
I was never sure if he was counting off mph or kph, but the car got over a hundred before the front end began shouting, “Slow the fuck down, German engineering is way overrated.”
And the grin disappeared from his face.
I never saw that grin again. My guess is he got that out of his system. Me? Very glad to slow down, glad to have my real Dad back. I think the experience inoculated me from the need for speed. I never wanted to create the same memory in my own son’s head. Never.
Terry- my smile broadened as I read this. What a wonderful memorial to your dad. (And, like you, never would I recreate it). For that moment, you saw a different man, not just the man you knew as your father. My smile is tinged with tears…
Holy Moses, Terry — This is a total keeper. What a fantastic memory. I was thinking there would be some killa ride today, and I’ve been right all morning, just sucking up the fumes from the tailpipes. You dad…that look on your face…the countdown…I bloomin’ LOVE this. And a VW Rabbit…oh geez…I am amazed it’d go that fast. I’m relieved you don’t feel the need to add that to your own son’s experiences in cars…the roads and the cars have, indeed, changed. I think you might have a whole chapbook full of car poems in you. That’s worth a try, Terry…we’d all buy the book! Susie
Exactly. I both laughed and felt a twinge in my stomach as I read this. My first car was a VW Rabbit, and I blew up that engine in no time! This is definitely a slice of some larger storytelling. I would read more about any Midwest kid who grew up playing the cello.
Susie, oh I love your prompt. Your end says it all “car poor/and story rich”. Love it! I will be back later today. Can’t wait to write about my favorite car and to read everyone’s poetry:)
I wanted a Mustang.
I wanted a Mustang.
In 1989, I turned 16
with 889 dollars to my name
checks deposited from night shifts in
the drive thru at Burger King,
tips stashed in socks from
Sunday afternoons tending bar at Aurelio’s when
I was the only waitress and got to pour Chianti for
the after church crowd.
(Mrs. Moretti was a good tipper after a half carafe.)
I calculate that I walked nearly
600 miles for that 889 dollars, and
at 16, I didn’t want to walk no more.
I wanted a Mustang– like the one
double-Whopper-with-cheese Joey
drove through the BK drive thru
on Tuesdays after band practice.
I didn’t want Joey. I wanted to
be the one driving thru.
Ford made the Mustang.
Ford also made the Capri.
In 1979, the Mercury Capri
was a dead-ringer for its twin,
the Mustang when shown in profile.
So when I saw it on the used car lot
for a thousand bucks, I fell in love.
It was stick shift,
which I could learn.
The catalytic converter was rusted out,
which I could replace.
The passenger side floor had a hole in it,
which I could cover with a mat.
My dad suggested Joe look
under the hood, but I wouldn’t walk
another mile.
I wanted a Mustang.
I stalled 37 times the mile home.
Never repaired the catalytic converter.
I couldn’t even order in a drive thru,
the Capri was so loud.
Friends sat with feet on the seat.
February slush seeped into the floor mats.
I wanted a new car.
In 1990, I turned 17,
took out a loan,
bought a new Honda CRX,
mastered the manual, and
drove it 120,000 miles.
Oh my gosh, Sarah — This is a gem! I love it. I was laughing in so many spots. First of all, the determination to get a car is so real, especially when new in the world of driving! I felt that…and wanting Joey’s Mustang and not Joey…AHAHAHA! That’s classic…love it. My first out loud laugh was when you were pouring chianti for ol’ Mrs. Moretti (in her cups after church…great!). And calculating all the miles for that 889$ and then the stalls on the way home. Oh lordy! Then, the hole in the floor boards that had your pals with their feet up. My dad’s ol’ Willy’s had holes in the floor so I could see the pavement under my feet…dang, that car was frigid in winter, but he let me drive it… I could tell some more stories on that one…just trying to keep it in gear and not rolling backward at the intersection up by the university. Seatbelts? What were those?! You really did take me on a grand ride this morning, and I can feel the jolty ride! Here we are, Honda girls. Thank you for the ride! Hugs, Susie
Sarah, love your narrative poem! What rich details and your passion for that mustang shines through with striking sounds and more! I so enjoyed the part about the customer being a better tipper after a half carafe of wine. My favorite part was near then end as you “stalled 37 times” with the “Friends sat with feet on the seat”….I can just see this! Super fun poem:) Thanks for the smile!
Poems are the only way to make clear how obsessive we can be about anything. Good on ya. My favorite car was a Honda Civic Wagon. That car saved my family’s life. I am not kidding.
Sarah—wonderful story!!!!! That first car was amazing, wasn’t it? Your narrative shapes so much about who you are—Joey’s Mustang, the miles you walked, the sad state of your car that you loved so much. Wow!
What an engaging narrative poem about your first car! My favorite line is
I didn’t want to walk no more
and my second favorite line is
(Mrs. Moretti was a good tipper after a half carafe.)
The way you used the double negative emphasizes how badly you didn’t want to walk, and I love that little exclamation point in word choice without using the exclamation point. I also love the truth of churchgoers coming in to have some wine after church.
You give us real life.
And we don’t like nothing better than real life in poetry – it’s where the heart and the truth is!
Sarah, WOW I loved your poem. It evoked so many memories in me. It reminded me of the days when I longed for a car and hated walking places. I fell in love with a Mustang as a child while visiting my uncle who had one. I remember the Mustang and Capri look alikes.
Thank you for this! It was beautiful.
I love the teen spirit of your poem and was delighted by the lines, “I didn’t want Joey. I wanted to / be the one driving thru.” I too owned a Mercury Capri. What a character-building experience. Love it!
Wow! What a narrative. Sarah. I love how this prompt has pulled out these stories. Maybe ones you hadn’t fully told before. I love seeing snippets I’ve seen in other poems (the floor with a hole in it, I think I remember). It is also very nice to see how much you grew in just one year! What responsibility to take out a loan at 17 and buy a brand new car. And it cracked me up that the first one was too loud to order at BK!
Wowza, Susie! I feel your love of these wild cars, and the understandable choices we make for sensibility and reliability when we want the adventure stories! I love the line “cars and hair” at the end of that stanza – awesome! You are indeed “story rich” – thank you for this offering.
I’m not much of a car person myself, but this memory popped up for me:
The Station Wagon
Anticipating boring adult errands
when we were just little
while Mom collected all of the things:
Receipts for returns
Lists
Purse and keys
Jacket
My around-the-corner friend and I
Would ever-so-quietly unlatch the “way back”
and lay down flat
and softly close ourselves in
sneaky fox pups grinning in a huddle.
Mom, rushing out,
would search in earnest for a moment
before a big fox smile dawned.
She’d get in the wagon, turn the key.
“Where are those girls?
Well,
I guess I’ll just have to leave them behind
To be eaten by wolves.”
She turned the corner
Enjoying our stifled giggles.
HA! Emily, your mama was a giggle … I loved that the back of the wagon had you “fox pups” curled up in a ball teasing her. This is totally touching and sweet. You should send this to your folks! Watch out for those “wolves”! Hugs, Susie
Reminds me of a kinder and gentler Dorianne Laux’s “Power”
The fox pups, the fox smile, the anticipation, the fun. All of it. Every bit.
Emily, I really enjoyed this tender memory, especially the “hiding” by “lay[ing] down flat / and softly clos[ing]” yourselves in the back of the Station Wagon. There’s a comfort here, and you’ve depicted it so well!
Susie, you so nailed it when you said we can’t have grown up in America without a car story (at least one!) and a relationship with cars. I am not much of a car enthusiast but my family was…and so one car instantly overshadows the others for me today. How I love your phrasing throughout your poem! From not so much having to “dreaming cars” to being “car poor, story rich” – and the way you fantasize about them – yes, the stuff of life is made of such things that carry us through. How fitting. This is is such a compelling prompt and process – thank you!
Galaxie Ride
One thing I knew
from the beginning:
We were a Ford family.
Granddaddy could recall
his first glimpse
of a Model T.
Daddy always spoke
with a trace
of yearning for
the white Thunderbird
he gave up
after I was born.
I came along in the era
when cruising the Earth
was not enough;
governments sought
to be the best
at hurling humanity
into space.
In the hazy gray memories
of my early days,
one bright pop of color
stands out:
Grandma’s car.
Ford Galaxie 500
fire-engine red
rocket-sleek
aerodynamic
meant for racing
curious choice
for a grandmother.
She loved it.
Granddaddy bought it used
never imagining, I suspect,
that it would carry us
through three decades.
No power steering
—that silver steering wheel,
a full cardio workout—
no AC
—sweltering in southern summers:
when I was twelve
I left a stack of 45 rpm records
on the rear window dash
and they melted,
rippling up
just like ribbon candy.
Grandma would tuck a Kleenex
into her cleavage
to absorb the sweat—
seats trimmed in red leather
upholstered in scratchy red fabric
studded with silver dots
—I like to think they were stars—
I cannot remember seatbelts.
Over the years
the red fabric
faded to pink
and began to split.
By that time I’d learned to drive
having practiced
with the old red Ford
on the old dirt road
of my father’s childhood home.
Grandma said:
“Honey, if you can drive this,
you can drive anything”
—and she was right.
no AC
—sweltering in southern summers:
when I was twelve
I left a stack of 45 rpm records
on the rear window dash
and they melted,
rippling up
just like ribbon candy.
Grandma would tuck a Kleenex
into her cleavage
to absorb the sweat—
This is gold! I love the image of heat you portray in this. What a great memory and you painted it for us so beautifully.
Fran, I am
loving the car poems today and the nostalgic memories. This part was so rich:
I left a stack of 45 rpm records
on the rear window dash
and they melted,
rippling up
just like ribbon candy.
Grandma would tuck a Kleenex
into her cleavage
to absorb the sweat—
such life moments of memories all packed into these 8 lines! I can see those records and that Kleenex!
But maybe my favorite line is our shared one today –
no power steering
We were on the same wavelength today with the upper arm muscle it took to drive back then. Yes – it built character to learn to drive a car that took it out of us!
But oh, how I love my backup camera of today. I wouldn’t trade it!
Fran — I LOVE this … you pulled up so many vivid details that I was smiling and just loving the whole darn thing. The steering wheel workout…ha! So well put. And the 45 records melted into a ribbon — brilliant description (though so sad…ha) That Ford was iconic…your grandma knew what she was doing, that’s for sure. Watching the car fade to pink…aah, priceless that it become your first practice drives. And Grandma was right…if you could drive those big ol’ tanks with all their eccentricities, then “you can drive anything.” Just wonderful… a reverie that just feels marvelous with my coffee this morning. Thank you! Susie
Oh, and the tissue mopping up the sweat …ahahahaha…that would’ve been my mom… aah! Love it. Susie
Grandma would tuck a Kleenex
into her cleavage
to absorb the sweat—
That bit right there is a pearl, in the midst of so many others. I could SEE it! Thank you!
Susie, thank you for the ride along! Your words (from Saturday grocery rides to the cool cars, the burned rubber, and car dissections) and prompt took me back through several memorable vehicles and incidents throughout my own life, just as car poor and wishing I was as memory rich as yours.
Michigan Speedway
fullspeed
atthewaveofthegreen
thefieldroarspast
arocketlaunch
reverberatingthrough
moleculesandbones
thewhineofengines
ahornet’snest
ofangryinsects
ablur
goneinseconds
Gracious, Jennifer, my nails are dug into the passenger door! So very sensory that my head is reeling a bit (and I so hear that hornet whine).
I love this swift poem’s movement and imagery – I can see, hear, and feel that car speeding past. I love the lines:
“arocketlaunch
reverberatingthrough
moleculesandbones”
Thanks for this experiential poem!
Jennifer, the no-spacing here adds to the revv of the engines, the fast-pace, no-space hornets nest of frenzied speed. Whoosh! And off they go! You have us racing already this morning! Vroom, vroom…….!!!
Jennifer — How totally perfect that you “blurred” through that speedway image of cars screaming past our eyes. Perfect!!! I loved, in particular “reverberating through/moliculesandbones” and it does, in fact, read like hornets on a tear. And right down to how quickly the poem passed before my eyes…poof…goneinseconds. But still in my mind for sure! Love it! Susie
Are you my sister? This is a poem she could have written—much to my mother’s dismay, she drag-raced the boys on the back roads. I thin my dad approved, though! Love the speed and tension in this poem!
Jennifer—I shared this with my sister, and she would like to share it with her car club on FB. May I have your permission for this? (Attribution, of course, is assumed)
Of course! Thanks for checking and for sharing! And drag-racing on the back roads sounds like a blast.
Thank you!
The way you have connected all the words together make them look like they are pushed back into a pile from all the wind going by full speed.
Jennifer, very vivid, very visceral, and very cool!
What an odd
little world
they built,
in the back-seat,
third-seat of that
run-it-down,
all-around-town
Chrysler Voyager,
a wheeled palace
of stale crumps
and arcade tokens,
of abandoned toys
stuck in nooks
and dog-eared
picture books,
the way the door
would slide open
with a swoosh,
and the magic
of the space,
suddenly broken
Susie,
What a wonderful prompt! I love the idea of thinking of life through the cars. So unique and rich. Thank you. Your poem is fun and beautiful and full of tugs on my heart. The old cars of Dad and the car to last a year and the final stanza about the last car to schlep the guitar and last dog and exit and…oh, my. This is a prompt that I’m going to spend time with. No quick poem out of me this morning. What a gift. Thanks again.
Susie, what a revving ride down memory lane today! Thank you for hosting us and investing in us as writers! Oh, the memories of the cars in our lives. So many feelings tied up in some of them, too! I can relate to
With miles and a lifetime,
my treads worn bare
and a life pulling to the left
in tortile alignment,
I roll onto Reality Drive
here at the exit lane
I chose a Nonet for today’s poem,
about the car I learned to drive in back in the late 1970s on the back roads (and then legally licensed to drive in 1981)……
Volkswagen Nonet
Tomato soup Volkswagen Squareback
they don’t make ‘em like they used to
learning to drive a stick shift
rubber floor mats, black seats
no power steering
bell, whistle-free
wimpy horn
‘eighties
fun!
Kim, the nonet works so well for today’s prompt, capturing the details (tomato soup color and rubber floor mats) from our first impression and narrowing it down to the fun ride. I remember those wimpy horns!
Kim, the nonet works perfectly here! I suppose it won’t surprise you to know that I, too, did some of my learning on old back roads-? No power steering makes a car a beast to drive but it built character, I’m convinced, as well as defined muscles. I can just see you whipping along in this VW, long hair whipping in the breeze, singing to the top of your lungs. Before you were even legal, lol.
Aah, Kim, yes! I was in love with my cousin’s VW back in the day…the little tin can. No matter that it was “a stick” and had “no power steering” and no bells and whistles, it was INDEED FUN! How fitting that you made this a nonet! It just fits the looking back and the size of the car. Vroom! Beep! LOL! Susie
The pull to the left brought back memories! And the roll onto Memory Drive—what a lovely phrase!