Childhood Vacation Memories
Were I to describe a vacation,
I would be describing ten,
For we always crossed the desert,
At deep night and back again.
Summertime meant Daddy’s two weeks,
And we packed up the old 35 Ford,
It heated up at night, we carried water cans
I mostly slept through with nary a word.
Gas stations were miles and miles apart,
Blackie had to be cranked from time to time,
Stops were to take care of necessities in secret,
Under moonlight on sands so fine.
At the end of the cactus and night desert ride,
Awaited trees and cousins and humidity and heat
Grandma’s house was wood unlike our adobe,
But getting together with three families couldn’t be beat.
There was a happy front porch where everyone gathered,
We made doll clothes, played games, did simple things,
The backporch was long with a wooden ice box,
Piles of fresh eggs and peaches from Grandpa’s trees.
I cried when the time to leave would come,
A whole year to wait for this piece of paradise,
Year on year we did the same,
‘Til vacations became funerals – one by one.
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