c. 2022 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(10-22)
End of the road
My old mule is going home to Junkyard Heaven
Where needed bits get selected
Off of old vehicles, sitting idle and neglected
I feel a knot in the pit of my stomach
Like a tree root tangled on itself, grown in a hard patch of ground
It will seem quite odd not to have my heavy hauler around
So many adventures we shared
Taking care of both my parents, before they passed
Hauling sets of furniture
A new Chevy Cobalt door for a friend by the lake
A recliner for the living room, an impulsive mistake
Too low for me to use comfortably with a bad hip and knees
Still useful as a catch-all by the TV
A stand for the countertop oven
An overgrown thatch of rosebush which caused my neighbor to fret
Behind my storage barn, for how long, I forget
Dad’s big easy chair, a gift for my brother
With boxes of memorabilia collected by my mother
Brought all the way home from West Virginia, under a plastic sheet
I unloaded it in out the street
In front of his home, with my nephew’s help
Our work made pooches across the street yap and yelp
Another puffy perch of a throne, for a friend in town, long known
She had made the purchase before realizing that it was too large to take home
Flat stones to line my driveway, where the yard had become too muddy
The tailgate, a perfect spot for watching fireworks with my neighborhood buddies
On the Fourth of July, hand over my heart
Beer cans bouncing around in the bed with auto parts
I wasn’t driving anywhere that night
It wouldn’t have seemed right
To abandon the campfire crowd, sat on pallet furniture
In a community of mobile trailers
Lots divided and numbered many years hence
Bordered by split-rails, and chain-link fence
Dogs barking incessantly as background noise
Country tunes on the radio
Me feeling glad that it had finally reached the point where we got no more snow
In NEO, the north coast of America, and Ohio
Every line of that pickup truck has some memory attached
Every rust hole, every ding and scratch
Big tires worn smooth
Tailpipe tucked behind the wheel well, a design I thought to improve
But never did
I wanted a dual exhaust for show
And the rapping of cylinders firing in a mechanical bellow
Every time I saddled up for some sort of friendly chore
Or a run to Geneva, and the grocery store
Cases of brew lined up behind those half-doors
Bags of Doritos and pretzels on the floor
Once in a winter blast, I cruised with four-wheel drive, down the way to Trumbull Locker
Got smokies and beef jerky, thick like hard tack
Nearly went in the ditch, on my way back
Picked up a stranded friend
They were glad for the dashboard vents
Blowing streams of hot air on gloved hands
Took a couch and loveseat to Ashtabula for a couple of ladies living on a rural spread
But they decided the set didn’t match their décor
My peace offering went out on the front porch, instead!
On all of these things, I reflect upon, as the broken beast crawls away on a wrecker’s hook
I take one last look
Short of breath and eyes covered in a watery glaze
That final gaze
Makes me salute
And declare “Godspeed on your retirement route!”
The concrete strip by my home is stained with power steering fluid, oil, and gasoline
I wish to the keeper of eternity that this was only a dream
But the sentence has been passed
We’ve ridden for the last time
Into a fading horizon of the twilight in decline
Farewell, friend
We have reached the finish line
