I’ve a clunker in my driveway.
All the ads tell me it’s trash
and that there’s a willing dealer
who would turn it into cash.
Then I’d have a brand new pickup
that would guzzle much less fuel.
If I didn’t take advantage
I would surely be a fool.
So I shave my stubborn whiskers
and I don my Sunday best.
I will swig a cup of java
while a donut I ingest.
I put on my favorite jacket.
Though outside my windowsill
it is cloudless, bright and sunny
I feel every little chill.
Out into a songbird morning
now I carefully will go.
I remember walking briskly.
As of late, I’m rather slow.
Here comes Lucky and she greets me
with a stick and wagging tail.
Though she doesn’t fetch it swiftly
she returns it without fail.
So I toss it for her gently.
I guess one won’t need a sleuth
to detect what’s plain and simple,
that we’re both long in the tooth.
But I really mustn’t dawdle
like I used to do back when
I had ample time for biding.
That’s a thing for younger men.
There he sits, my trusty clunker,
so I make way to him
squeeze into his ragged chassis
wishing I was fit and slim.
Lucky wants a ride this morning.
She is ready for some fun.
I can’t find the words to tell her
that my clunker’s days are done.
From my pocket comes the key ring.
I remove one now for good.
Why is it this little gesture
takes much longer than it should?
It goes into the ignition.
Just to get the beast the start
takes a fair amount of patience
and a little bit of art.
While the radio’s still working
modern music isn’t much
but I dial up the weather,
current happenings and such.
I remember well the newscasts
and though he has gone away
I can recollect with fondness
when Paul Harvey said ‘Good Day’.
So I sit within my clunker
breathing his familiar smell.
Had this truck the means to do so
O the tales he would tell.
He would talk of friends and kinsfolk
who have shared my rides with me.
He would speak of town and city
river, mountain, valley, sea.
He would gripe about the potholes
and the sorry state of roads,
grumble loudly of the backaches
due to his so many loads.
We’ve shared many destinations,
from the simple to the strange.
He’d harangue me something awful
for he needs an oil change.
He was once an artful dodger.
Many vehicles he’d pass
and at just a buck a gallon
cheap and plentiful, the gas.
He has always been quite faithful.
Come the wind or come the snow
he’d convey me to the places
that I needed him to go.
He is not too eco-friendly.
With exhaust I must contend.
But in spite of all his stinking
I’ve not had a better friend.
Glancing up I see reflection
up within the rearview mirror
and I find it’s not surprising
that I’ve shed for him a tear.
Just two feisty old curmudgeons.
Lordy ain’t we just the pair?
Do I part with him forgetting
all the memories we share?
He would make his fateful journey.
All it takes is me to ask.
He’d be loyal and trustworthy
even in his final task.
Dearest friend you are a clunker
and like me you’ve grown old
but you’ve still a tale that waits you
and a fable to be told.
Come what may, we will be living
out our rusty destiny
filled with many songbird mornings.
I’m a clunker, same as he.
2009 A Noah Trifle
ISBN 10: 0-9815846-8-3