Free verse about our old Buick |
Hard Frost on an Old Brown Buick The Buick had sat at the far edge of the yard for years next to the high grass Many a harsh July and August sun baking her deep red lacquer to a cocoa brown Her split front windshield as clouded as a hot cup of coffee with too much cream Cruel summers, cold spring rains, winters tough as the folks who lived nearby Her youth spent as a family friend, never complaining, never straining A straight eight that once purred under her chrome adorned bonnet Trusty and strong, four doors filled with adventure waiting down the road Now tired and worn, as though she had once carried the weight of the world Gently put out to pasture years ago only to sit and rust from lack of attention A great change from her weekly grooming, a vacuuming, a wash, a waxing How she loved to have her oil changed, the regular lubing a personal favorite The touch of a craftsman’s grease stained, wrench filled hand eased her burden Days, turned to years gone as she sat lonely in the yard, a curiosity at most The occasional young boy who would look, perhaps touch her now and then Oft chance to climb inside her, wrap his small hands around her Bakelite wheel Dreaming of where he might take her, how people would look at them and smile Making loving noises as he imitated the sound of her now locked straight eight, Shifting her through her gears as they drove to places far away and imagined Smiling deep inside, she felt the gentle touch again of warm and loving hands She provided a smile for a young man once again, if only for a few moments Her last few years were more like visiting a tombstone of a distant relative Fewer visitors with less remembrance and sadly less meaning On a warm summers night you could almost hear her crying in the moonlit sky Slowly wasting away, a mere curiosity at her best, an eyesore at her worst This autumns’ first hard frost had different ideas for her, perhaps a last hurrah Early morns trip to her replacement and an early rising sun played her all anew Her dark brown paint covered in the fine silver that only Gods’ hand can paint Feathery, scalloped, swirled like fine silver service, renewed and lovely again |