My father bought a Willys Jeep
When I was just a kid.
My mother took one look at it
And man, she flipped her lid.
A station wagon was the car
He’d told her he would buy.
To him, they were equivalent;
He hadn’t tried to lie.
We didn’t have it very long
But oh, I loved it so!
Its rattan seats could fold if you
Had lots of things to stow.
In emerald green, it didn’t look
Like any other car.
In terms of being cool,
That Willys Jeep sure set the bar.
Today I saw a Willys Jeep,
Bright orange, on the street
And memories came flooding back,
An unexpected treat.
My father’s long-ago mistake
(Or so I had been told)
Evokes a snippet of the past
I’m happy to behold.
'66 Buick Station Wagon back gate door open
boys toss school stuff lay down in back fixes booked pillows
older bro latch down the back gate shut
girls all in a row in the back seat shuts back doors
engine starts and stops, and again, third times not a charm--mumbles mom
Dad "It's not about who's right, but it's about who's left."
Dada's gone under the hood, he can't hear mom
Mom's shuffling papers, mumbling
Dads back, good engine started, idling time
Mom "The kids new school papers says 'Emergency Contact',
should I put my mom's name?"
Dad, "Put the doctor's name, what can your mom do?"
Me, "Oh-oh, mom called out my name"
Oh geesh, she included my middle name, "What I do?" "Blah, blah blah ..."
Sigh, idling stopped, cars in motion
Dad, "Now to make more $."
Mom, "I thought we didn't have any $ problems?"
Dad, "We don't have $ problems, we've enough $ to last for a lifetime.
That should be about 4 o'clock this afternoon."
Dad's quiet--not mom.
HE SAY I SAY
You say tab water and I say filter water
You say cane sugar and I say stevia boomer
You say coffee and I say tea
You say pork chop and I say wild salmon
You say butter makes everything better and I say Hello, grandma (who is six feet under)
Butter better supper utter cookie-cutter
Lots of laughter
He say station wagon; I say cyber truck
He say piano; I say ukulele
He say instruction; I say here is your glasses
He say dishwasher; I say maybe later
No pressure! Lovers adore each other
I say Sweetie and He say Sierra
Sierra Sweetie Sweetie Sierra
He say I say
You say I say
No
right or wrong, no
good or bad , but
both at once
In harmonizing the opposites
Experiencing dualities
A message came to me but I said no
The voice was persistent and insistent
I asked my husband to do it for me
He said no too
I was exhausted; I had just given my children a bath.
The voice would not let up. I finally jumped up and took a library book back.
Which was insane, for it was after hours, the library was closed.
There were fourteen lost teenage girls at the library that night.
They were crying and scared. I had a large station wagon.
I took them back to their school buses.
That was 1984.
Long, winding gravel driveway
decrepit old Mercury station wagon
parked there
doors unlocked
those big red buttons
sticking up
no seatbelts either
Tiger lilies blooming
all-at-once, on
either side
of the gravel
A few years later
a cockeyed backboard
appeared on a tree
supporting an
uneven, rickety
basketball rim
Winters we spent shoveling snow
It was a crisp fall November weekend,
We had gotten up early that morning
A frantic rush, buzzing to go camping.
We'd packed the night before, tired by the end.
My parents briskly loaded the luggage
In the station wagon, then we'd piled in.
Tickled, Ember our lab would lick my chin.
She was very playful, but average.
Tents were set up and a campfire blazing
Overlooking the clear lake and mountain.
We would hike nature trails we were certain
Were safe and waded in the lake fishing.
Our campfire shed a yielding glowing light
That filled the night air with the scent of smoke
And lingering forest pine and silage oak.
Sky a stage of dancing stars through the night.
I think back to all the favorite times
While young, not knowing how the lord lead my
Sight, to see His love in nature, and sky
With family in the fall leisure pastimes.
1/11/2021
The Good Old Days Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Mystic Rose Rose
i once got spooked
on Spooky Hollow road
smack dab
in middle of headless horseman country
almost lost my head
it was very dark
lanterns belong to city dwellers
my station wagon spun crazy eights
as i imagined, the dawn of the dead,
a recently watched horror fest
any moment he’d materialize
head hanging off shoulder
green as pea soup
or Dracula, leaning on a cane
white teeth hanging like stalagmites
bump in the road…
well you know the end
i find the main artery
my box springs creak at night
muuuaaaaahhhhhhh….
Freudiana
Famous poet Barclay Cruse
curent toast of New York salons
wears tinted glasses and Italian shoes
and composes doggerel for subway johns.
Acclaimed a purist by his colleagues
hard-edge painter Geoffrey Pyle
earned during Summers spent at Antibes
covert commissions from Armstrong Tile.
Junk sculptor Cranston Bold
collects mufflers and I'm told
often edits his creations
to fix his Chevy station wagon.
Cordell composes way-out music
quartets for flute and flushing toilets.
His father was a music critic
and caned him with his clarinet.
A nun and her station wagon go far
In one direction on the road of life
With no brakes and a loaded gun
On their way to heaven of course
Camped out in the cemetery at midnight
Protected in her habit and giant cross
Made of metal and wood of course
Like a coat of armor to stop bullets
From people like you and you and them
A nun knows what is best in cemeteries
At midnight with a full moon on display
Tomb stones laid bare with names and dates
Secrets beneath crucifixes blessed
Nuns know what is best for death
Pray for the sinners and all that rest
With or without bullets in their chest
Authors note: I invite you to read my short story posted here on this site titled “Incident At The Bay Wharf.” It is lots of fun with guns and bums and nuns.
Once upon a time in a very dark and dreary, creepy, place where the wind was howling through the black trees,
And the branches looked like swords and machetes, I was sitting with my 5 year-old-daughter Susie, if you please.
We were seated in a mini-station-wagon, at a dark and dreary train station waiting for Daddy to arrive on the commuter train, scheduled for 5:03.
If you know me, you know I can be a little impulsive, so on this night, I decided to do something creepy, but what would it be?
Immediately knowing, I turned to my 5-year-old daughter and yelled "BOO!" right in her face, silly 32 year old me.
Susie did not scream. She did not jump. She merely punched me as hard as I have ever been punched in my nose, a bleed.
I was laugh-crying now. Crying because my nose felt like it had been hit by a semi, laughing at my own stupidity.
Susie felt very sorry for me and kept apologizing over and over. I told her not to worry, I deserved it, me being me.
I had a black and blue nose for awhile, but even after
that faded away, I knew that Susie was assertive to a T.
I was so proud of the fact that I had raised a daughter who did not take any idiocy from anyone, including me.
Where’s my sister gone?
The holiday season all wrapped up
A tarnished blanket of snow remains
Flipping the page into the New Year
Filling our thoughts with hope and cheer
A ringing phone, a joyful hello paused
Crying and sobbing, collapsing to her knees
Your sister, Connie’s been in a wreck
Somehow our big old blue station wagon found the way
leaving a blurry trail of street lights
Our hearts pounding, eyes filled with tears, pacing and praying
Waiting and waiting the doctor finally came in
Leading my parents away to see their little girl
Her boyfriend walked in, not even a scratch. How can that be?
She’s fighting for her life and he doesn’t even look like he’s been in the car
She flew through the windshield. He was pinned in his seat.
That New Years Eve forever changed our paths
My sisters gone, their daughter too, a jumbled family not sure what to do
Her body remains intact and functioning too
But her mind, she’ll never be the same; you know who.
I’ll never get my sister back.
A broken family, a missing link
Has made us appreciate each other every day.
MISSING CHRISTMAS
memories i may or may not
recall. the year without a tree.
how long did our presents wait
for our return? kids squeal
with happiness, as only memories
are left, and a silent river hastens
too many days in fast motion.
mom and dad must still be
parents, sleeves dripping wet,
many towns left behind. trees
wave from the tops of cars,
from storefront windows.
pine needles stab at a speeding
station wagon, puddles splashing,
snow freezing dewy faces. heart
wants to stop but heaves heavily.
stop motion...dad stares a long time,
lingering as if fate has locked down
this moment. won’t there be
plenty more? but only his mother
will bring presents, year after year.
perhaps that is why, dad waits
until the last minute to put up a tree,
then takes it down again, just as fast.
11/28/2017
Childhood Christmas Memories Contest
Sponsor - Bic Gi-Sa
SHATTERS OF LIGHTNING
An electric axe shatters the station wagon window
And the little girl cowers in the front seat confused
As tornados of glass swirl like lightning bugs striking the window.
She used to be haunted by those spritely creatures,
Yet as the dark sharpness settles, the mysterious spirits whisk away.
She is alone with the glass, which has landed on her like a swarm of sleeping fireflies.
Looking around, she sees flickers of safety, swirled with shards of danger
Air bags not deploying is not very good,
would bring to the dealership if I could,
my imagination,
in station wagon,
job a crash test dummy with flesh and blood.
12-23-16
Invaded by the tribe
The old station wagon
Pulls to halt in my driveway.
The five children fall out
of its rusted doors
shouting and laughing.
She turns off the noisy engine.
Slips ghostlike from the drivers seat.
Her five hours of driving
In a bedlam of her children’s noise.
Looking so slight and frail.
My heart melts again.
I enfold her in my arms
And whisper thanks for coming.
Even though I have moaned
About her children’s disruptions.
The extra work cooking
And entertaining.
I look into my sisters face
And whisper I love you Sis.
You are always welcome
In my house.
And in my heart
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