NaPoWriMo Day 29
Prompt: A poem based on things you remember
My first car should have been recalled
I recall my first car.
Hyundai Pony, army green.
Trailed Florida sand all over Ontario.
I recall using a choke start
to get that car
I recall my dad and I thinking we could change the rad.
We did but when it came to the part where we needed to bolt the new one in,
we didn’t have the right tools.
I recall taking up to six hours on transit just to get
to and from university.
That’s before I got my crappy, army green car.
I recall the love notes my husband would leave for me
under the windshield wipers in an attempt to desperately
make me go out with him.
I recall being stuck in the middle of nowhere.
It was pitch black and my car broke down.
Neither my boyfriend nor my father would or could pick me up.
I recall my brother
denting the hood of my car
when I was on vacation.
I recall Grandad painting
all of the rust spots on my car
with just the right paint.
I recall my engine freezing a few times over the winter
and leaving my car to sit in the driveway
until it thawed out.
I recall replacing my passenger side door
at least three times
for various young and dumb reasons.
I recall thinking that 11 am
to the mechanic who started at 7 am.
I recall not lending my car to my girlfriend
because she couldn’t get a rental
and the debate she had with me.
I recall the snowstorms I drove in,
passing all of the other cars in the left lane,
wondering what was wrong with all of them.
I recall forgetting to pay for the $5 that filled my tank with gas.
My mom answering the door at 2 am thinking what do the cops want
with my brother now. Completely surprised it was for me.
I recall that other friends
still have memories
about my car.
I recall driving my friends
all over Ontario.
I recall my girlfriend and I almost spontaneously grabbing our passports,
packing a bag, to then drive across the border to do whatever.
I don’t recall what stopped us.
to the cottage.
I recall boosting my car
and even boosting
a dump truck with my car.
I recall as much of my youth through that car,
the one my dad bought for me, the dad who doesn’t talk to me anymore.
And, I don’t talk to him.
© 2016 by Colleen Knight