Bel Air & Beyond
My parents bought it in Alamogordo,
the '56 Chevrolet Bel Air. Bright & new.
A big purchase, maybe two grand.
Two-toned, Laurel Green & Crocus Yellow,
a 'Streamline' two-door V-8 engine,
Jet Age rocket on the hood, a gleaming grille.
Dinah Shore urged us in her Southern drawl
to 'see the USA' but Mother didn't drive
& Dad mostly drove to work at Holloman
though he'd sometimes take us to White Sands
where my sister & I ran barefoot in circles
& cupped gleaming gypsum in our hands.
Back in LA when my dad bought his forest
green Caddie, the Bel Air became my first car.
I drove it up the 405 to college, my carpool
packed six deep, someone talking basketball,
John Wooden, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar or reading
an essay on Joyce or a poem aloud.
When the Bel Air went kaput,
I was heading to Berkeley. My dad underwrote
a '68 Mercury Cougar. I drove it off the lot
to my boyfriend's place in Silver Lake.
Next day, the sporty Cougar wouldn’t start.
At a gas station off Rampart
the mechanic laughed. F.O.R.D.
That stands for Fix Or Repair Daily.
For years, I had to raise the hood & fiddle
with the carburetor, adjust the choke.
Sometimes the car would sputter, stall.
That day I was lucky—just out of gas.
