Silver button push was the magic touch
my fingers craved when drama rattled
a family of five in a home of too many walls.
With the gas petal floor boarded to escape
I held communion with an engine roar
while fins fishtailed on gravel.
On a pavement high I chased life
through small towns where daredevil
dreams didn’t wear muddy shoes.
Sixteen drove its didn’t give a damn days
until ‘67’s moment of inattention sentenced
’57’s blue metal to a graveyard of rust.
©Susie Clevenger 2014
I couldn't find a picture of a blue 1957 Chrysler four door. The car had a history of escape prior to it being my mode of transportation. The article is about my uncle's escape in it. Therapy anyone?
This was Herotomost's challenge at Real Toads: My challenge today is for you to summon up memories of
that first mode of transport, the one that gave you the freedom to get from A
to B without that nosy family butting in.
Comments
Right off, my ex-wife's parents had one of the real 57's. When they finally shed it they gave it to our daughter who lives in South Houston. She wore it out.
It was a dark brown and either white or ivory trim color.
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