“Pickup Truck Farewell”

 

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