PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

When I enter my backyard through the side gate, I look to my left. I see my car



under the basketball hoop, surrounded by white sugarsand that is in turn covered in



little patches that are the burrows of sand lions. There it is, my brown beauty, the car to



beat all cars, a true sports car. The line of the body starts from a flat rear end and



inches its way up the hatchback. The line creeps its way over the roof to the sudden



drop that is the windshield. The flow of the line runs down the hood with recessed



headlights and extends for another 6 feet.



The view of this masterpiece of engineering makes me want to drop my jaw in



wonder that such a creation could be mass produced for thousands of others to



cherish. The only thing that stops me from dropping my jaw is the faded brown paint,



pink bondo near the driver’s side door and small patches of rust on the passenger’s



side and driver’s side quarter panel. As I see the car, I can’t wait to get in it and drive.



As soon as I enter the car and sit down, I feel myself relax and unwind from the

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day, yet a minuscule feeling of excitement grows in the back of my mind. The relaxation



comes from the knowledge that anything that happens in this car is in my control.



Anything that I want the car to do, I can try it and that makes me release all of the



stress that accumulated during the week. The excitement is growing from the knowledge



that the immense power of the car’s inline six cylinder engine will be at my command. I



stare off past the brown dashboard for a moment to see the tan first story of my home



and the black window leading to the lower living room. The view makes me feel the



anticipation of the upcoming experience. The continued feeling of relaxation hides the



rising feeling of excitement when I insert the key into the ignition.



I turn the key in the ignition and listen to the car rumble to life. I push in the



clutch and shift into first gear. I can feel the raw power of the engine roaring through



me.  I let up the clutch slowly and feel the excitement rise as I let the car slowly push  



itself from the sugarsand. I turn sharply to the right and down my mulch driveway to the



private road of my community. I slowly meander down the blacktop, past the large oak



trees that make my neighborhood seem friendly, and past the houses that were so non



chalantly thrown there to desecrate the forest that once stood there. The whole way out



of the complex I feel relaxed, but the feeling of excitement grows as I near the exit. As I



turn left onto Gunn highway I push the accelerator to the floor and watch the RPM’s



grow higher and higher; I shift from second to third and fourth, waiting for the exact



moment to shift to fifth. The excitement emanates from me as I feel the cool air flow



through my window and through my hair. My back presses into the soft yet torn seats



as I accelerate faster and faster. The dark streets light from the glow of my headlights.



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The surrounding roadside fly by as I catch glimpses of trees, horses, houses and street



lamps. The sights make me almost giddy, but I know that I must return home and not



just cruise forever down the road that seems almost alive as it tries to kick me from its



surface. I slow the car and turn around. I return more slowly than I came, calming



myself the whole way back.



As I drive slowly back down the mulch driveway and turn sharply to the left into



the sugarsand, the feeling of excitement is again in the background. The torn seats look



almost forlorn as they form themselves back to their original shape. When I leave my



place of relaxation and excitement, I remember my duties and responsibilities of home,



work and school. I know that I must do as I can to make all of the places I go and all of



the things I do become special, but no place will ever be as special or perfect as being



in my car as it flies down the strips of concrete and tar that we call roads. It may not be



the same with other peoples’ favorite places, or maybe not even close to the feelings



that their favorite place inspires, but I guess that makes my place just a little more



special.