At my age, it’s a rare longing; this ache, this…patience.
Song to an Orphan
Of all the rides
Through all the years
- Bless them, each one-
For all the miles and trials and smiles;
The pops in shops, and Jesus clips;
That intoxicating aroma of oil and sweat;
Drive-in movies and foggy windows;
Sliding through the night all hot and steamy;
And Moving: the packing feats immemorial,
Whole lives tucked into every square stuffed foot;
The tunes, crescent moons;
Flat tires, and mires,
Failed clutch and check engine glare;
County line in the rear view mirror, just in time;
The kids to the bus stops and
Flapping dog’s ears out the window;
Windshield wipers slappin’ time…
And on the road again…(*)
Spilled cokes, barfing jamokes,
Camping in the Spring, and fishing;
Gleaming carwash-clean and shiny;
Parked, there, on fresh cut grass;
But of all the rides of my life,
So many it’s hard to remember,
I come to my last,
And after these 61 strange and wonderful summers?
I got smart. (And a poem further)
Orphan, come to Mama.
( * with thanks to Janis and Willie)
WARNING: must wear protective breathing aparatus -
Today
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