automobiles

first there was the red truck

with the missing tailgate door

from the infamous picture

of us in the bed

standing five abreast,

a dog and one more.

the sun was bright

on our squinted eyes,

my hair blonde,

my face white.

then there was the green truck

with stripes on the sides

and those jumper seats

with the malfunctioning seatbelts,

zipping through traffic

and the wind

and the tires made loud noises

at every turn,

chasing another truck,

a white one,

driven by a white man,

who had picked up Sonny,

whom had ran away.

then came the blue Buick

near the Tropic of Cancer

that cruised around during the day

and rested at night

in a Walmart parking lot

away from the lights

while we slept

with our hopes high

and our bellies empty.

and the leaking Mustang

that belonged to my aunt,

driven by Mama

to pick me up and take me home.

it was a standard

that grinded with every shift

and stopped at every fifty miles

for an oil refill.

the black truck

with the gold trim

that belonged to my father,

who had to sell it for money

because he didn’t have a cent;

and the blue one

that he had repossessed

by his wife

after she kicked us out

just like Mabel did.

the big white cargo van

that drove us to school

and church

and soccer games

with the Home Depot bucket

in between the seats

for me to occupy,

and the self-installed speaker

dangling from the roof,

and the string tied around

the back door handle

reaching all the way to the front

for Pop to pull on

to get it to open.

they always laughed at us 

when we climbed out of the van.

the world was always laughing.

then I grew up

and got a truck of my own,

my father gave it to me.

it was white,

and the engine would cut off 

at a drive-thru,

on the interstate,

at the peak of a turn.

I had to pull off to the shoulder

and work out its kink:

move the handle through all the gears rapidly,

back and forth,

and then

turn the key and hope it worked.

sometimes it did,

most times took four.

then I got another,

the one I own now,

it is green

like the one with the jumper seats

that rescued Sonny,

but this one has no jumper seats,

just one bench in the front

draped with a towel

to cover the tears in the fabric.

it is lifted and has big wheels,

and the muffler has a hole in it

the size of a lemon,

and it rattles when I accelerate,

it also leaks power steering

and needs refilling every two days,

now the seatbelt has just gone out,

and the speakers suddenly

sound

  distorted.

my hair is now brown

and I don’t have a cent

and can barely pay rent,

but at least I have sympathy.

I’ve come to understand

some people were meant to suffer

so that others may laugh,

to bring balance to the world

and amusement for the gods.