My 3 year old son’s
first car? A racer!
It had everything:
a plastic windshield,
a front seat,
a horn Harpo Marx
would’ve envied!
rummm…rummm..
he’d say, the ignition
turning over.
Without maps,
he’d take off for Alderaan,
or maybe Andromeda.
We’d bump into clouds,
reverse, drive
around a cumulus bank,
drive straight
for Alpheratz.
Without stopping
to fill the gas tank,
he’d pull
into Andromeda’s Drive-In.
We’d order fries
and listen to
Baby Shark
over the speakers,
and we’d sing
Baby Shark
all the way home.
I’d lift him out,
and ask, “How
was the drive, buddy?”
“Superb.”
was his answer,
superb his favorite word.
Then it grew into
“Superb, my man.”
This from a 3 year old
was hilarious!
Today I still laugh
thinking of it.
Still, even in an age
where the sound barrier
was broken,
I’m amazed
at how quickly
we’ve left Andromeda’s Drive-In
so far behind
—abandoned somewhere
in clouds of gas
and dust.
