My wife released from surgery
Still feeling the anesthetic
I close the shades in the
hotel room
And cut off all the lights
The air-conditioning produces
white noise
I sit by her in bed
And watch her while she
sleeps
This is a quite time
My time alone with only my
own thoughts
I don’t mind
Why am I thinking about cars?
In 1962, a third class in the
Navy, I drove a fifty-two Pontiac with the left
brake line crimped off and the power steering disconnected from Argentia , Newfoundland to
Washington D.C. Kentucky
to Alaska Maine : we had to pawn almost
everything we owned to get money to rebuild the engine so he and his new wife
could continue on to Kansas City
As a young man I worked on my
cars: big eights with four barrel carbs.
I rebuilt the engines, installed gauges, a floor shift, glass packed
mufflers with a cut out and amplified speakers for my AM radio. I probably drove to fast; but I was in
control – the car responded only to me and my commands. My cars were always special: an extension of
who I wanted to be.
Today cars are mainly
transportation; and in the case of some people a symbol of money and status. But that personal relationship of a man and
his car rarely exist nowadays.
We don’t drive our
automobiles any more – we ride in them.
We turn more of our decisions over to the automobiles: a vehicle with a
little computer chip that monitors all mechanical and operating functions. We have GPS, Blue Tooth, OnStar, self
deploying air bags, back up warning and camera, self parking programmed,
automatic braking, blind spot warning, automatic light dimmers... Our vehicles
are capable of making their own decisions.
We click on the air conditioner and select our satellite radio station
and read our text messages as we are transported with minimum effort and input to
our destination.
I have a cell phone, but it has no camera and is not
capable of texting; anyway, I never turn it on unless I need to make a call.
the Ol’Buzzard
