My poem “God, Dad and Cars” has been published today on The Blue Hour Magazine. Thank you for the honor!
I’m 8 years old, perched
on a headlight under the raised hood
of our white four-door Chevy,
which has somehow stranded us
at Uncle Bob’s farm.
But this isn’t like the time before,
in Canada, when we broke down
along a country road, far from home.
Across the back seat Crystal and I
had played cards with mom while you
paced, and raged how God must hate
you. I wondered, why you thought
He’d bother a little family like ours,
only on vacation. Wouldn’t He
have more important things to do?
No one home at the farm,
but you know where the tools are—
your hands gloved in grease.
You are in control, under sweat
and sun. I hold something in place
while you work. Afterwards,
when the engine cranks,
you thank me, slap me on the back.
“Thank God you were here,” your smile
wide and rare as the…
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David J. Bauman 
Eight year olds have a beautifully clear perspective. Isn’t it interesting that we are even more casual in our thanks than we are in our cursing.
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I’m glad you liked it, HC. Thank you. Yes, it’s been interesting and not always easy to write childhood memory poems. How much is what happened and how much is what we have created in our memory about what happened? Luckily I’m a poet rather than a historian. 🙂
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Congrats! Really nice poem, especially poignant at the end.
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Thank you so much, John. I imagine it’s one of those memories that many of us can relate to.
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Just love that poem…and how you recaptured the voice of a child.
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Thank you, Charles. I really appreciate that.
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My favourite part is certainly the last two lines, Love how you repeated it like it was an echo in my head 🙂
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Those were his exact words, and I cannot recall if he actually did repeat them. I do know that I have oft repeated them in my own head though. I’m so glad you liked!
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It was one of those poems that you read and it just… Clicks as if it’s familiar to you as the reader
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I am soooo glad! You know I think this poem started after hearing a comedian, or someone talk about that flashlight moment that most all men have had with their father. That moment when we hold the flashlight while he does something incomprehensible, and usually we get in trouble for not doing it right: “I’m not working over there! Shine the light over here!” lol But this came to light instead, and thank you for jarring that inspiration loose from my foggy brain.
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I never really got that with my Dad but I get what you mean 🙂
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