Uncle Doug

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.

25 responses to “Uncle Doug”

  1. 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 //

    Liked by 1 person

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