The Old Ford

Bump, bump, bump, in the back seat of the Ford.

Not a truck or car - a huge hunk of metal:

Practically a tank, but my dad loves it.

The monster roars when it's started up,

and it could probably breathe fire and smoke.

Bump, bump, bump - but I guess it's an okay ride

because I'm way too short to bump my head

on its ridiculously domed roof.

So I play with the old-fashioned door light switch,

and I enjoy the absence of a seat belt.

But I can't roll the window down because

the backseat windows don't work like that.

And even a short trip to town is boiling

in the early summer - it's because this tank's black

and its body is probably a foot thick.

Bump, bump, bump - Dad, no, not over the train tracks!

This heat is making me queasy, and

it has me thinking I'd be better off

riding a camel to school today.

Bump, bump, bump - ugh; not even a radio

to distract me from the bump, bump, bump?!

But my dad loves the huge dials on the dash,

And the front grill big enough to make a

waffle from a deer or even a horse.

It smells like new, but I figure it's ancient.

It's got to be, because my dad says

His dad would be proud. I guess he would,

If grandpa liked the bump, bump, bump and all.

But I don't say that, because I guess there's

something I don't get about dads and cars.

So, bump, bump, bump it is, this Tuesday morning.

But I guess it's an okay ride, because

I don't hit my head, and my dad loves it.