I learned to drive in my dad’s 1949 Nash. Then came a 1966 Ford convertible, which my small children thought was cool and their grown friends remember to this day. I then turned to a smooth and serene 1976 Chrysler Cordoba. After that, it was a 1986 Ford Bronco, better suited to hauling teens, their friends and their gear. A 1992 Explorer followed. Today, I’m driving to the grocery store and doctor appointments in a little 2016 Prius C. This one will be the end of the line.
All the discussion about the efficacy of totally electric cars ied to some thoughts about motoring:
MOTORING MEMORIES
The Hudson and the Studebaker,
One could say, have met their maker.
Likewise, Edsel and DeSoto—
Gone, like Dorothy with her Toto.
Even with a pile of cash,
We’d be hard pressed to buy a Nash.
Some of us recall the Tucker—
Kissed off with no time to pucker.
VROOM
It seems like it always works this way:
Sports car drivers are bald or gray.
They’ve reached the stage where they can pay
For the cars they yearned for in their day.
MECHANIC’S DREAM
There’s a chunk-a-chunk sound in that “doodad.”
There’s a whirr and a whine in that “thing.”
It just stopped in the rush hour traffic
With a plink, a plunk and a ping.
I would like you to try to fix it
Because this is the closest place—
And, Sir, I wish you would kindly
Wipe that smile off your face.
IN THE SHOWROOM
If you buy a car, you must take a stance
And participate in the “dealer dance.”
If the price is high, just state your regrets
And watch the salesman do pirouettes.
ELECTRICAL STORM
The power is out.
The TV’s kaput.
The house is all dark.
I can’t see a foot
In front of my face
To look for a coat
To warm up my bones,
And here I must note:
Tomorrow is doomed.
The problems loom large
Because of the car
That’s failing to charge.
