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Stuck on Daddy’s Old Model T
There I was, facing a bald open field,
Chilled on a cold hoar-frosty day,
Hunting for the enemy scouting group
When I spotted a copse in the dip.
I half ran, half crawled and rolled inside.
I waited for the crack of a rifle.
But none came. I squinted all around.
One lone soldier moved. I took him out.
Then I spotted the other three,
Facing the echo of my gunshot.
My coast was clear. I took the high ground
And nestled into the ground to wait.
Well,
after a while, I got thirsty, you see,
So I licked off the frost from the ground–
Ugh! Oh!!. My tongue got stuck.
On a rock. OW!
Hush. Must not alert them. What to do?
Lucky for me, General Mommy
Came out of the side door just then.
She looked around, and there I was,
Stuck to the roof of Daddy’s (Old Model T).
Mommy disappeared back inside
And I panicked like crazy and
I nearly ripped my tongue right out
Pulling to get loose. M-mmmMM. MMMM!
Then mommy came back with a pot
And poured warm water on my tongue.
Brava! She saved the prisoner—
Who was embarrassed but wiser.
Embarrassed but a bit wiser.
—
This was prompted by a random encounter with a stray memory, prompted by who know what?
I remember the automobile I was playing on that cold and hoar-frosty day as Daddy’s Model T truck, hence the title. Manufacture of Model Ts were halted in 1927, and this was around 1939, the year I turned six, about two and a half months after the declaration of the Second World War, and, of course, my first year in school. War and a child’s fertile imagination meet.
I think the memory arose out of a convoluted series of half-connected pictures planted in my mind by various research pages I had landed on. Some were war references for other poems, and one was from Alzheimer’s pages, where faltering speech and stumbled-over words came out of a ‘patient’s’ mouth.
And I “hear” her say, “My tongue got stuck,” by way of explaining why she couldn’t say what she was trying to say.
Memories. They’re everywhere, and we keep tripping over them.
Please Note: The picture above in no way resembles my dad’s old truck.
I remember it as a Model T; always have. But I don’t know it’s true identity.
This picture is from https://pxhere.com/en/photo/924489
CC0 Public Domain Free for personal and commercial use No attribution is required
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About admin
Judge at 6th Rabindrinath Tagore Awards - International - English Poetry Contest
Author of Ann, A Tribute, and Chasing a Butterfly, A story of love and loss to Acceptance with the poetry of Alzheimer's and poetry for everybody.
Appears in anthologies in Canada, US, India, Mexico and Bolivia.
Poetry in Ekphrastic Review and NWriteers International Networeworld Review.
Member of Federation of BC Wrters, Royal City Literary Society, and Holy Wow Poets Canada.
Member Writers International Network: Distinguished Poet, Distinguished writer.
