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'32 Ford Five Window

An old hulk sitting on barren land. Many times it was sold and bought. A '32 Ford Five Window, now all rusted and left to rot. At one time this old car was new. At one time it was washed every week. At one time it was waxed and shined, before it became an antique. Changed hands many times in its life. The next buyer was proud of his find. With each new owner, it became more worn. It's condition in a state of decline. A boy in grade school at his desk. His young mind starting to wander, A hot rod he saw while driving with dad, when he yelled, hey son, look over yonder! The young boys eyes as big as saucers. A car like that he would drive one day. He would build it himself and win trophies in car shows at the local cafe. He spent days drawing his hotrod. Drawings to show how it would look. Drawings were made of each part. Drawings he kept in his hot rod book. As a teen, he worked three jobs, saving money to build his dream car, He sold everything he cared about, even his cherished old Gibson guitar. It was winter and bitterly cold, while driving through ice and deep snow. Among scrap metal and objects of rust, he saw it, a '32 Ford Five Window. The car that once was new. The car that gave all its owners pride. The car that was dumped in a field. Would become a kid's dream ride.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2019




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Date: 3/30/2019 8:33:00 PM
I enjoyed reading your poem. I see through your eyes a young boy's passage of time that touches the reader. Every step of the way the boy's hobby went from seed, root, and blossom, which was really well done.
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Robert Morris
Date: 3/31/2019 5:56:00 AM
Thank you very much!