with thanks to Susie Morice for the car poem inspiration on the Ethical ELA Open Write today
Galaxie Ride
One thing I knew
from the beginning:
We were a Ford family.
Granddaddy could recall
his first glimpse
of a Model T.
Daddy always spoke
with a trace
of yearning for
the white Thunderbird
he gave up
after I was born.
I came along in the era
when cruising the Earth
was not enough;
governments sought
to be the best
at hurling humanity
into space.
In the hazy gray memories
of my early days,
one bright pop of color
stands out:
Grandma’s car.
Ford Galaxie 500
fire-engine red
rocket-sleek
aerodynamic
meant for racing
curious choice
for a grandmother.
She loved it.
Granddaddy bought it used
never imagining, I suspect,
that it would carry us
through three decades.
No power steering
—that silver steering wheel,
a full cardio workout—
no AC
—sweltering in southern summers:
when I was twelve
I left a stack of 45 rpm records
on the rear window dash
and they melted,
rippling up
just like ribbon candy.
Grandma would tuck a Kleenex
into her cleavage
to absorb the sweat—
seats trimmed in red leather
upholstered in scratchy red fabric
studded with silver dots
—I like to think they were stars—
I cannot remember seatbelts.
Over the years
the red fabric
faded to pink
and began to split.
By that time I’d learned to drive
having practiced
with the old red Ford
on the old dirt road
of my father’s childhood home.
Grandma said:
“Honey, if you can drive this,
you can drive anything”
—and she was right.
The Galaxie and me. Grandma took this photo. Can you guess her favorite color-?
Daddy with his pride and joy. I believe the T-Bird had a red interior.
lit bits and pieces 