Cars Through The Years: They All Had Their Names Pt.3 Poem by Frank Avon

Enter Dirty Red. Station wagon.
Maroon. With more offspring
on the way (eventually three more) ,
and annual trips back to Tennessee -
more space, to sleep and play
and not to quarrel over windows.
She wasn't speedy, she wasn't sleek,
she wasn't graceful either,
but she was spacious, gracious.
And she was used a lot:
cub scout dens, groceries,
mulch for the yard, fertilizer,
Pfandy the beagle and her pups,
birthday parties, trips to KC,
shopping bags, luggage even on top,
lots and lots of mud and slush;
oh yes, five o'clock traffic
with four inquisitive kids
in the back seats, their parents
counting minutes between birth pangs,
the anxious dad, stepping outside,
waving, 'Let us through! Let us through! '
Dirty Red stayed the course, patient,
steady, never a great beauty,
but serviceable, safe, and capacious.
Until she just about
wore herself out.