I had an Uncle Doug who,
every Sunday,
would grumble and grunt and fuss
his way into his bright green
’73 convertible Corvette,
so that he could drive it around
the neighborhood and feel young again.
He’s dead now, though.
Stroke killed him last year.
And now the car sits under a tarp
in my aunt’s garage.
Sad how that is.
Lou Rasmus is an independent author from Chicago, IL. His works are largely focused on exploring the meaning of life – or lack thereof – while the themes of love, relationships, and self-loathing are also central to many of his stories. His upcoming novel, Primrose Isle, will be his third self-published title. Grapefruit Juice, a collection of bitter poems and short stories, and DEAD RED FISH, his semi-autobiographical debut novel about a young man coming to age on a road trip with his childhood friends, are also available on Amazon. View more posts
So true
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thanks Bill
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Yes, it is.
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such a waste!
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it is
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I hope one day that car can make someone else happy & feel young =]
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maybe one day
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Go get that car Lou!
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i think i should
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Sad but ,exactly why don’t you get the car…..you and her free on the motorway ……think about it😎
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that could be dangerous haha
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What fun without a bit of danger😉😎
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right on
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I was going to weep, but I had a drink instead.
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cheers
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My best friend’s grandfather had a convertible for the same reason. I think they sold it when he died, though.
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that’s too bad
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In memory of your Uncle Doug, why couldn’t you take the car out for a spin some Sunday? I think it would be a creative way to honor his memory and drive a fun car. -Jill
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very good idea. next weekend
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If you do a new poem about driving your Uncle’s car you should definitely take pictures.
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will do
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Immediately reminded me of Rush’s “Red Barchetta”
“Red Barchetta”
My uncle has a country place
That no one knows about
He says it used to be a farm
Before the Motor Law
And on Sundays I elude the eyes
And hop the Turbine Freight
To far outside the Wire
Where my white-haired uncle waits
Jump to the ground
As the Turbo slows to cross the borderline
Run like the wind
As excitement shivers up and down my spine
Down in his barn
My uncle preserved for me an old machine
For fifty odd years
To keep it as new has been his dearest dream
I strip away the old debris
That hides a shining car
A brilliant red Barchetta
From a better vanished time
I fire up the willing engine
Responding with a roar
Tires spitting gravel
I commit my weekly crime //
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wow. very similar. i like it
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Sad indeed.
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that’s how it goes
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