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There she was in plain view, clean, brightly colored, and not undercover.
As nice as she was, I don’t know why she was still there and not discovered.
She sat there quietly in a sales lot of an auto dealership.  The only conclusion
I could draw was that she was waiting there, just for me.

I wasn’t sure that I could afford her, but I could not resist her beauty.  I was happy to be fortunate enough to make her mine.  So I started her wheels to rolling in the winter of 1974.  That was when I bought my first car, a 1973 Maverick on that cold winter’s day.

Years later I would consider the matter, but at the time, little did I or the Maverick realize that her model in many respects represented the very essence  of me. Not given to conformity or dependency, we had something in common.

She was a six cylinder and gold colored with a black vinyl top.
From Chicago to Wisconsin, she never despaired.
Through the icy and snowy trenches, I saw no flinches.
From Northern Mississippi to Central Florida,
not once did she complain, frown, or sigh.
Through the sun bleached moisture ascending through 
The Gulf of Mexico, she never resisted or said no.

Nonconforming and unconventional, she shouldered a free spirit.
Unshackled by tradition, she cruised through the winds of freedom.

In the fall of 1978 with a cross on her antenna and a sticker on her bumper,
she took our young family 2000 miles to San Francisco without a hitch.
By then, my gold Maverick had served us well.
Her many miles were beginning to show and tell.
An inflated economy and high gas prices forced her to be benched.
We sold her to a dear friend in 1979, and I have missed her since.
12122016PSContest, Late August Standard, Brian Strand

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