Long Station wagon Poems
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Simon – the protagonist.
18 – year old kid who just graduated from high school.
Lives in middle class suburbia, no designated town, and an every-town sort of feel.
Lives with his mother, his older brother. (Father has recently passed away...a year ago)
Have a small number of friends, most of them through service groups.
Very active in community service, volunteers for church organizations.
Enthusiastically participates in highway clean-ups.
Loves helping old ladies to their cars with groceries.
Brings in stray pets from the street, he’s currently the unofficial caretaker of 7 dogs and 5
cats.
A steady “B” student in school, would be an A student if he didn’t spend so much time with
community service.
Doesn’t date at all, has almost no free time, although he does sometimes feel like he’s
missing out.
Drives a brown station wagon.
Has never put any type of hair product in his hair before, wears a T-shirt and blue jeans 80%
of the time, 20% he is in church wearing something nicer.
Earns most of his money during school at a part-time job at an old folk’s home, taking walks
with them, listening to their stories.
The kids at school have nicknamed him “Simon Theresa.”
He sometimes gets frustrated at other people, that they’re not doing enough for the
community.
In church when he was 13 he stood up and demanded more people donate money into the
basket being passed around.
He is sometimes too passionate about what he does.
He is not very athletic, or interested in playing sports, yet he is ridiculously good at table
games (ping-pong, air hockey, pool, etc.)
He has a hard time socializing with people his age, and fears he is too different from
everyone else.
He has always been the antithesis of his brother and father, who are very much the All-
American male: athletic, sports fans, cigar toting, car lovers, beer buddies, etc.
The only alcohol Simon consumes is the teaspoon mass.
Despite how opposite they are, he gets along fine with his brother, as their personalities
seem to compliment each other.
His father on other hand, he feels like he failed somehow, ever since his death, he never felt
he got his acceptance from him.
And I can't help him.
Sometimes I think where we end up in life…how high we go…how far…
can be symbolized not only by the family tree…but by the family car.
For me it started with my parents driving our family station wagon…it’s interior painted black….Where my initial dreams were fashioned…while riding in the back.
My first dreams consisted of a more egocentric point of view…
dreams made just for me…I hoped one day would come true.
Then one day my dreams became less conceptual….less fantasy…more real…
The day I went from riding in the back and got behind the wheel.
By now I was married driving a mini-van…with an interior painted black…
Wondering what my children were dreaming about while riding in the back.
I remember the moment they were born…how I closed my and wished they’d have a happy and healthy life…free from danger…free from heartache…free from sadness…free from strife.
And how I began to drive more carefully keeping my wife and children in my rearview…
my dreams now much more focused on helping their dreams to come true.
And from a place in the back of my heart and mind…a place no one else could see…
I dreamed of the life my children would be living and the people they would be.
Having much more driving experience…I knew what was best for them…at least that’s what I believed…until they got behind the wheel and my vision was replaced by the vision they conceived.
And I gladly shed my dreams for theirs…they transformed quite easily…because, looking back, that is exactly what my parents did for me.
I realized, as my parents realized, the dangers and sadness of life I can’t keep them from averting…and the best I can do when they’re sad is to stand beside them while they’re hurting.
As they continue driving…on their journey…as their own dreams they pursue…
I am happy to sit back, smile…realizing my original dream has come true.
That even though I can’t protect them form heartache, sadness and strife…
our children have been able to live a healthy and happy life.
For they know on whatever path their dreams may take them….
whenever the road ahead is painted black…
If they look in their rear view mirror
they’ll see me riding in the back.
Two guys at the corner of Fifth and Grant,
were looking pretty far down on their luck.
Because their beat-up old station wagon,
just got T-boned by a Ford pickup truck.
The light was green for that station wagon,
but that truck just slammed right into their car.
After they all got out and walked about,
looked like that truck driver came from the bar.
That station wagon was a mangled mess,
one guy had some blood oozing from his head.
I said to myself, it could have been worse,
thank Heaven nobody’s bad hurt, or dead.
The cop showed up a few minutes later,
asked them what the heck was going on here.
The truck driver said, Billy Bob old friend,
those boys there smell like they was drinking beer.
The cop hemmed and hawed then cleared his throat,
he said you know it looks perfectly clear.
I see what you’re saying is true, Judge Brown,
these boys will be locked up for fifty years.
So, they hauled those guys to the county jail,
told them that they don’t need any phone call.
Cause if they want to get out of this mess,
the best thing was to confess to it all.
The sheriff wrote it all out on paper,
said that it was going to be all right.
He told them, sign your name here on this line,
then you might be out by tomorrow night.
The next morning, they went to the courtroom,
their lawyer was the judge’s son-in-law.
Billy Bob showed the judge their confession,
the biggest case this county ever saw.
There was murder, rape, theft, and robbery,
with a whole lot of other crimes thrown in.
Every unsolved case the sheriff had faced,
was listed in the charges against them.
The judge slammed his gavel on the desktop,
said haul these boys off to the calaboose.
What say we go down and have a few rounds,
cause this one calls for a couple of brews.
Now ain’t that just the way life seems to go,
some days it don’t pay to get out of bed.
You’ll be cruising along, singing your song,
with the warm sun shining down on your head.
Then the day starts to turn cold and dreary,
though that is not what the weatherman said.
Some dirty bird flies by and drops his pie,
now your day has turned all nasty instead.
I count on angels. They speak to me.
Not in voices, but telepathically.
They do not leave me alone until I do certain things.
I know it is an angel due to their persistent tenacity.
Call Toni. I think “later”, but then I hear “call Toni now.”
It is not a voice, it is an insistence, and it does not let up.
Invariably, there is a reason.
One time I heard an angel give me directions.
She wanted me to take a library book back. The library was closed.
I had sat down for the first time in six hours. My children were bathed.
I did not want to. The voice did not let up.
I asked my husband to take the library book back.
He refused, saying it was already after hours. We would pay the fine.
The voice kept yelling at me. Louder and louder.
I drove to the library, furious with my husband.
When I arrived it looked like there was a rumble.
Terrified, I went to a back entrance, jumped out, put the book in the slot.
Ran to my car, and tried to escape before I was killed.
The mob surrounded my car.
The mob was fourteen teenagers. They were screaming and crying.
I rolled my window down and asked what was happening.
They told me they were from out-of-town. They had been to the mall.
They were supposed to meet at the busses at nine o’clock.
It was 9:07 p.m. They had no idea how to get back to the mall.
The angel knew what she was doing.
She had to find a woman with a big car.
She had to find a woman who was petite, not scary.
She had to find a woman who would break down to badgering.
I was driving the largest station wagon ever created.
I hit the “unlock” button and said “jump in.”
I turned that car and we raced to the mall.
As I came up to six busses with some really worried adults
We were screaming and laughing. I was honking. The girls were yelling.
Some had their arms out the windows.
They were so grateful, I have not forgotten it.
The angel knew not to send my husband.
He is looks like a linebacker and is six foot four.
I have never forgotten how this angel sent me
in March of 1980 to save fourteen girls from Mt. Ayre Iowa.
My father was a man who stood strong and tall,
And in our opinion he was the best FATHER of all.
He would come home for lunch and sit us in his lap
And allow us to take off his working cap.
Mom would say no but we ate some of his food,
Dad always seem to be in such a good mood.
In the evenings, coming home and after taking his bath,
He did many things to make his kids laugh.
He would take us out for ice cream and a movie at the drive-inn.
And have us in bed way before ten.
My mom was an awesome cook; she made sure we were fed.
But I often remember it was daddy who tucked us in bed.
He had a white Chevrolet station wagon, it was red inside;
On so many occasions he would take us out for a ride.
We woud go down Highway 90 to his mama's house,
And he would leave us there to be alone with his spouse.
They would come back to get us when summer came to an end,
To take us back home because school was about to begin.
This went on for the first several years of my life;
Then there was a divorce between daddy and his wife.
He was no longer there, no longer with my mother;
But he also left me, my sisters and my brothers.
We saw him on the weekends, but it wasn't the same;
As him being at home and we could call out his name.
As I grew older, he was there for my sons,
He was there in the evening and even at dawn.
He touched their lives in a very special way,
And they are acting like him to this very day.
They are raising their children and taking up time;
To do things with them that will stay in their minds.
I pray for my sons marriages and also for thieir homes;
That they will never leave their wives or children alone.
In the marriage I pray the wives will stay,
And NEVER decide to get up and walk away.
Because it takes two to make the thing go right;
So I keep on praying every day and every night.
Tribute to Mr. Homer Yant October 25-1925 - February 5, 2012.
Penned 2/5/2015 Dad was funeralized on 2/11/2012 3 years
My stepdad’s name was Eldon, but his best friends called him Jake.
“Missoura” born, he loved guy things like fishing on a lake.
He’d gone into the Navy after having grown up poor
and then got shipped across the ocean for Korea’s war.
Later with three kids, divorced, he met my mom and then
he married her, and we became a family of ten!
This new dad, Jake, a simple man, worked hard to keep us fed.
He liked his breakfast “Wheaties” and his lunch made out of bread.
He told us how he’d walked to school with cardboard on his feet,
and how they’d not had much to eat of costly things like meat.
I don’t know if Depression Era kids ate many greens,
but one thing we became aware of. . . Jake sure loved his beans!
I couldn’t understand how he could be so crazy for
the one food that he ate so much of back when he was poor.
But Eldon liked all kinds of beans, like those slow cooked with ham,
then topped with ketchup, and he liked beans straight out of the can.
In summer we’d be packed into his station wagon car,
a camper hooked behind us, and we always traveled far.
We’d eat bread and bologna, chips, and cans of pork and beans.
No fancy eating out for our large clan, by any means!
And on those rare occasions Mom was not around to cook,
Jake had a recipe not in Mom’s Betty Crocker’s book.
He’d mix some pork and beans with fried ground beef and heat it up
over buttered cornbread and we heartily would sup!
Recalling happy supper times like those, I sometimes wish
that we could all again be meeting for that great bean dish!
For Mom fixed lots of kinds of meals, and Eldon’s attitude
was “Clean your plates” so I (thin then) became a fan of food.
We kids moved on; Mom cooked for only Eldon. How time flew!
Our step dad passed away, and Mom no longer cooks for two.
She eats Weight-Watcher’s way now, but I bet she’d love to make
a pot of Navy beans again for her good man called Jake.
For the relatives poetry contest
Wait a minute, is it already Christmas again
Seems I just took down the lights and the tree
Is there no rest for the downtrodden and weary
This season sometimes takes the Merry Gentleman out of me
So I load up the sleigh with the dog and the kids
The old beat up station wagon I drive
On the hunt for this years perfect tree
We'll be lucky if we make it back home alive
As we jingle all the way to the local tree farm
Six kids and a dog singing at the top of their lungs
With only twelve days left before Christmas
My Ho, Ho, Ho, is already long gone
Picking the best tree out within our budget
My wife says Charlie Brown would be proud
I ask smarty pants Mrs. Santa what she meant by that
She'd rather not say with the little elves around
Before an argument even ensues
I've lost the battle before I hit the front line
You wonder how I'm so confident of that
The same thing happened last year at this time
As I struggle to get the tree off the roof of my jalopy
While Jack the dog in the frost is nipping at my toes
I fall to the ground with visions of sugar plums dancing in my head
Waking up to the dogs frozen tongue stuck up my nose
Finally with the tree set up in the front parlor
I notice it leans bad to one side
Taking my chainsaw to alleviate the problem
The gas fumes kill my kids parakeet out right
With Hobby Lobby open late for the holidays
I was able to purchase the product I need
Working late into the wee morning hours
I did a good job shellacking the parakeet
I'm not sure that my kids even noticed
Or brought up the question what for
But they sure like the shinny new ornament
Hanging next to the hamster that disappeared the year before
Well, I survived another preparing for Christmas
As subconsciously I'm being led
To wrap myself in last years present "The Snuggie"
And dream of those sugar plums dancing in my head
Wait a minute, is it already Christmas again
Seems I just took down the lights and the tree
Is there no rest for the downtrodden and weary
This season sometimes takes the Merry Gentleman out of me
So I load up the sleigh with the dog and the kids
The old beat up station wagon I drive
On the hunt for this years perfect tree
We'll be lucky if we make it back home alive
As we jingle all the way to the local tree farm
Six kids and a dog singing at the top of their lungs
With only twelve days left before Christmas
My Ho, Ho, Ho, is already long gone
Picking the best tree out within our budget
My wife says Charlie Brown would be proud
I ask smarty pants Mrs. Santa what she meant by that
She'd rather not say with the little elves around
Before an argument even ensues
I've lost the battle before I hit the front line
You wonder how I'm so confident of that
The same thing happened last year at this time
As I struggle to get the tree off the roof of my jalopy
While Jack the dog in the frost is nipping at my toes
I fall to the ground with visions of sugar plums dancing in my head
Waking up to the dogs frozen tongue stuck up my nose
Finally with the tree set up in the front parlor
I notice it leans bad to one side
Taking my chainsaw to alleviate the problem
The gas fumes kill my kids parakeet out right
With Hobby Lobby open late for the holidays
I was able to purchase the product I need
Working late into the wee morning hours
I did a good job shellacking the parakeet
I'm not sure that my kids even noticed
Or brought up the question what for
But they sure like the shinny new ornament
Hanging next to the hamster that disappeared the year before
Well, I survived another preparing for Christmas
As subconsciously I'm being led
To wrap myself in last years present "The Snuggie"
And dream of those sugar plums dancing in my head
When I was young we had a station wagon and we never gave our parents flak
when, before safety regulations came along, they let us ride in the way back.
On any trip, when it came to my sister and me…the way back is where you’d find us.
Laughing together as we played games, fought and waved at cars behind us.
The way back was the most fun part of the car and if you need more proof:
We’d roll into each other around the corners
and on big bumps…our heads would hit the roof!
In the way back we pretended not to hear when Dad yelled,
“Kids…stop your fighting…don’t make me stop this car…I don’t want to hear a peep!”
In the way back on long trips it was easy to fall asleep.
The way back was built for imagining…all we had to do was close our eyes
and the way back became a fort, a jungle or a princess’s castle in the sky.
From the way back as we battled dragons or pirates on the seven seas
we thought we were just having fun…we never realized we were making memories.
But that’s exactly what we were doing…in the way back…don’t you see
before the station wagon was replaced by the minivan and SUV.
Oh, my children and grandchildren, strapped in seatbelts,
still imagined…still closed their eyes…
as their seats became forts or jungles or a princess castle in the sky.
And on long trips after all that imagining sometimes they’d fall asleep
and they still pretended not to hear me when I yelled,
“Kids…stop your fighting…don’t make me stop this car…I don’t want to hear a peep!”
But it’s not the same as it was for me…
for whatever story their imagination chooses…
The magic of their ride comes without the bumps or bruises.
That’s probably why as I watched my children and grandchildren grow up
In the car…as they played…then fought…then played again…
I’d smile…remembering when I was their age
in the way back…
way back when.
*Image of Palm Tree Lights Trunk Wrap by Christmas Lights, Etc.
ILMO Our Eldest Brother Kimo (James)
Our sixties Christmas--as my memory serves, where
our eldest brother freshly cut one Norfolk Pine from
our country grove. He then rope-tied it atop our "65
Dodge station wagon. Brother plays the ukelele as
dad drives us home with "Banana" barking out back
at tailgaters.
Our home in town has a driveway that curves uphill
from the avenue. Entangled large 60's Christmas lights
wrap around the trees. Then they are roped to each of
the other trees up the drive. My eldest brother then
nailed holiday-adorned Menehunes to the trees. He had
made them in his high school woodshop class, --as
Christmas elves.
Higher up the drive was a largely lei-decked Santa
wearing just his swimming shorts surfing on his board,
while dolphins pulled an outfitted Christmas canoe
laden with gifts. It was a car stopper and the talk
of the town.
The livingroom Norfolk Pine had an army of Hawaiian
Christmas bells. Again, my eldest brother carved-out
coconut shells that were then cut in half and each was
threaded with a fishing line where a seashell dangled
at its end.
The tree was adorned with an assortment of seashells
having varied shapes, sizes, and colors. Freshwater
pearls were glued to draping light-green seaweeds.
They shine like silvery Christmas strands. They are
pale in contrast to the dark-green-colored Norfolk Pine.
Our Christmas in Hawaii lasted until 1969 after Vietnam.
That is when we started celebrating our family Christmas
on the mainland, --save one. ~~Aloha Brother
*An irreplaceable Christmas period to be remembered always...
2022 December 15
*1st Place*
Christmas Spirit
~~Regina McIntosh: Judging 2022 December 19