The World According To Ben Part 13 ..Our Poet “Fantastico’ Ponders Taking The Smooth Ole Riv To A Ca
Snacks”
(A Rhyming Haiku Sequence)
“Love that chrome!” I say, Sidestepping bumper bullet Of a Cadillac
Nearly old as me. “Some is pitted, I’m afraid But right now I lack
The cash to fix it,” The owner, in car show T, Gasps (nicotine hack).
Classics and hot rods Rumble in. They’re lining up By a running track.
Building nearby bears “Community Center” sign, But it’s more a shack.
Flat-top-grilled hot dogs Scent surroundings temptingly. Server sternly hacks
Frozen clump of ice Cubes to be used with the Cokes. Of course, I think “Snacks!”
Dad shows Ford Fairlane— Fifty-Seven; love those fins— To toddler, back-packed,
In Ford baseball cap And a Thunderbird T-shirt. Kid playfully smacks
Back of Daddy’s head. Dad smiles because… he’s a Dad. Proud heart just might crack
His chest. It’s chock full Of Daddy-Love for his son. He earns “Good Dad” plaque.
I walk on. Street Rod Shows some bizarre bodywork. Rope-drive Pontiac
Tempest gave chassis So this beast could rise undead. Passion… but no knack.
Ugly little lump Betrays builder’s lack of skill. Needs sledge hammer whacks
To be truly junk, Or many thousands of bucks To tighten the slack,
To straighten the bends, To make masterpiece of this Rolling bric-a-brac.
But—of course—who cares? This man’s pride is on display. Pat him on the back.
He’s more skilled than I. Took me months to build birdhouse In Wood Shop. Don’t clack
Your tongues. Some of us Merely spectate, ooh and ahh. No use firing flak.
No skilled mechanic, I delight in others’ work. Now… some Crackerjack!
Hope the toy inside’s A Model T modified— Head by Frontenac.
It sputters quite loud, Emitting little more than Clouds of oily black.
And, of course, it drips Fluids. It’s a Twenty-Three Hemophiliac.
But still, I am glad. Maybe it will get me home. No? Alas! Alack!
© Verse-Case Scenario, LLC 2016
This is a fantasia on something (or things) that might happen later today at the annual Vagabonds Car Club Auto Show in East Petersburg. We’ve entered the Riviera; I hope at least some of the gathered throng will be suitably wowed. Rivs are rare birds these days; the values for good examples are starting to rise, but the model still hasn’t quite “caught on” as a collectible. Its day will come; hopefully, when it does, I’ll be in a position to cash in… or, at least, fantasize about doing so.
Old cars also make great additions to any post-death bequest, after all.
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