Poem for September 2011

Sometimes a pickup truck, especially if  survives long past the warranty, seems to take on the personality of its owner.

            -- Meredith Holmes

 

Pa’s Truck

By Lynn Porcello

was faded black and red with rust.

He had it since the war.

Ma waited for him,

and they got hitched after World War II.

They used that truck for all the chores

and everything else--

hauling, moving, and helping others. 

Pa even lived in it one time

after he got out of the Army.

Behind the wheel he was at ease,

drove sensible. Ma insisted on that,

and Pa listened to her most of the time.

All us kids learned to drive Pa’s truck

on the mosey-on-down roads near our farm.

Pa got mad when Uncle Salvatore

ran it into a ditch after drinking too much

home brew. Pa kept it running like a clock.

Got good gas mileage, too. 

Ma keeps Pa’s truck in the barn.

I can still picture Pa driving it out Route 42

to Mary’s diner for coffee and doughnuts.

Lynn Porcello is a resident of Cleveland Heights and a grandmother of eight. She is inspired by other poets, including Anna Ahkmatova, Maya Angelou and Robert Frost.