A Bigger Back Seat
Oct 18 2022
My first car
was cramped, under-powered
unsafe at any speed.
Mushy brakes
made stopping an adventure,
and the grease-encrusted engine
ran rough
and stunk of unburned gas.
But I loved that car.
Took pride
in driving stick,
despite the finicky gears
and slipping clutch.
The car was freedom.
Made me feel
like a real adult.
And was even fun to drive,
or kind of.
Much the same
as was learning to ride a bike.
Especially back in the day
when we were free-range kids,
before parent was a verb
and there was no such thing as play-dates
and helmets were unheard of.
The exhilarating speed.
The edge of danger
free-wheeling downhill
feet in the air.
The access it gave
to the larger neighbourhood
this shy kid never knew
was even out there.
A heavy one-speed clunker
painted candy-apple red;
an ugly colour
that was never cool
not even then.
But on it
I was a cowboy on his stallion
chasing cattle thieves,
a motorcycle cop
siren on
fighting crime.
And in the badly used Honda
I was self-reliant;
the designated driver;
a lady's man.
Or would have been, I told myself
if only the gear shift
hadn't been in the way,
the windows were tinted,
the back seat bigger.
If only the passenger seat
didn't stick to your pants
with some indelible substance
unknown to Man.
Now, I drive a nice car
with power everything
that looks like all the rest.
While the old bike
is rusting in some landfill,
the Honda
recycled steel.
But the first car
like the first kiss
is something you never forget.
Just as I remember
all the girls who were smarter than me;
who would never consent
to riding shotgun
on such an iffy seat
in such a suspect car
unsafe at any speed.
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