1969 Chevrolet Impala<\/strong><\/p>\n

You
\nwere the colors
\nof sunrise reflected
\nthrough a shot of bourbon.
\nFour doors attached in Lordstown
\neach large enough to table
\na Slovenian style thanksgiving dinner.
\n350 cubic inch engine,
\ntextured vinyl roof,
\nturbomatic transmission,
\na svelte
\n3,750 pounds idling at the curb.
\nDestroyer of shopping carts and mailboxes,
\nleaper of train tracks,
\ndrive-in theater trunk smuggler,
\ndrive through prank accomplice,
\nyou were my first car,
\nhanded down from my grandfather.
\nYou already knew how to keep secrets.<\/p>\n

Grandma taught you
\nhow to keep your hood shut
\nwhile the old man
\ndrank his boilermakers
\nswiveling on a barstool
\nat the Croatian Fraternal Home.
\nShe\u2019d sneak her secret key
\ninto your steering column ignition
\nthen she and her girlfriends,
\nclear plastic babushkas
\nprotecting their curled hair from
\ncome what may,
\nwould drive downtown.
\nSmoking cigarettes.
\nThey\u2019d park you near Halle\u2019s Department Store
\nand then commence in doing
\ngod-knows-what for hours.
\nLater she\u2019d slide you
\nunmissed
\nback into the lot
\nlike the candy bar the old man would slip her
\nwhen his drunken conscience told him he was coming home
\na little too late,
\nswearing as he handed over his penance
\nthat somebody was syphoning his gas.<\/p>\n

~ michael salinger<\/p>\n