The Truck
The love child of an army jeep and a dune buggy.
Held together by gravity and imagination.
She belongs to my step-father.
He traded Volkswagen parts for her crooked frame,
and put her together piece by piece.
Constantly replacing, inventing, improving.
The body is made of road signs and diamond plate,
and painted olive drab.
The front fenders were replaced with ones from a semi truck.
and the added roll bars are pieces from an army generator.
The doors were made removable years ago.
But the Buddha velcroed to the dash never changes.
The pinto motor in the back is simple enough
that a twelve year old girl
can take apart the handful of wires.
While a fourteen year old boy
removes the six bolts holding it in place.
It takes two hours to pull the motor out and put it back in.
The truck is small enough that when the starter goes out
a tired fifteen year old girl
can push it across a flat parking lot to pop start it.
And light enough that when it accidently rolls into the
ditch
It only takes two men to put it back on its wheels.
©Chloe VanDuinen 2012
©Chloe VanDuinen 2012
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