Dodo Eggs

Here’s a poem by the renowned poet and automotive philosopher Crank McKey.

—

Life’s road only runs downhill.  It’s all one way.

No U Turns or emergency lanes just tolls to pay.

Changing lanes; someone on your hitch

Some cause dents others are left in a ditch.

Potholes, breakdowns, and your balding tires,

Belts that stretch and needle nosed pliers.

Admiring the headlights of the newest models.

Sticker shock!  Payment plan so heavy it waddles.

Burning oil, plugs are pooped, and you’re out of gas.

Hope run-over, bent up fender, crack in your windshield glass.

—

Let’s brake here.

My grade school sweetheart was a button nosed little brunette by the name of Leah Schumaker.  Her and I shared a classroom from fifth grade until half way through my eighth grade year.  I spoke to her twice.  That’s an impressive average of approximately once every two years!  Scoot over Casanova, there’s a new sheriff in town! 

Forget the boogieman, what scared me to death was rejection.  I spent my early days just hoping for a chance encounter or even just a chance to impress her.

The sun was setting on a brisk fall afternoon in Dakota Territory. The overcast sky was flooded with the thick, slate gray clouds so common during the winter. It gave everything a subdued and melancholy light.  Football practice was over and I was sitting on the concrete steps outside of Hogan Junior High.  My mother would be here soon to pick me up.

(By the way, our school mascot…The Midgets!  That’s right.  The long arm of political correctness hasn’t reached Dakota Territory yet!) 

I took a moment to inventory those gathered around me. There were always a few athletes or cheerleaders loitering long after school waiting to be picked up.  However, this afternoon someone more important was among their faceless assembly.

Leah was there. She was standing with a couple friends talking easily, breaking the drab of life with a delightful giggle.  She was only twenty yards away yet looking completely unattainable.  Did she even know I existed?

I did have one hope. My mother’s car was in the shop and that meant there were only two cars she had the option of using.  Leah would have to notice either one since both cars were members of their respective extreme. The car would either be my father’s completely restored 1973 Pontiac GTO or the rust red YuGo missing its front grill.

The Car Was So Bad, The Country Folded

The GTO meant a proud march to the car with my football equipment on the opposite shoulder.  I wouldn’t look directly at her until I was getting in.  As we rumbled away I would look again in her direction then to the tree above her as if a bird had caught my attention.  (Somewhere Don Juan is nodding.)

I asked God to grant me this wish.  I needed this.  There was no way I would work up the bravado to actually approach her.  It was this or I’d never know true love!  It was a simple prayer like a child asking for candy before bed.

Minutes later, a red bucket with four wheels turned the corner.  Nuts and bolts littered the asphalt behind it, acting as a trail of breadcrumbs leading home.   I bit my lip and draped my jersey over my head. Leah and I had missed our chance.

• A Thin Shell and Four Wheels
• The Last Dance – Step One
• The Last Dance — Step Two
• The Tungsten Tongue
• OLIVIA ARRIVES!