'69 Chevy

There may be some factual errors such as the year of the truck in the poem (I think it may have been a '67 or '68) and the make of the truck in the thumbnail photo here (it's actually a '79 Ford), but the poem is based on true events from my childhood. A poem about learning to drive. A poem about losing a pet. A poem about growing up. 

I tried not to sweat in that powder blue

’69 Chevy. Just my dad and I,

driving in circles – clutch…gas…release. Too

much gas though. The gravel had wings that day.

Dad laughed, but I was nervous. It was hot

in that truck, even with both windows down.

I practiced until break was done. I fought

that clutch pedal until its blood ran brown.

I learned how to drive in that powder blue

’69 Chevy. Just my dad and I.

I tried not to cry in that powder blue

’69 Chevy. Dad, my dog, and I,

going in circles – loss…grief…restraint. Too

much pain though. Tiny earned his wings that day.

Dad drove, but I held my friend. He was weak.

He knew, and he knew I knew…it was time.

They took him away…one last squeeze. I fought

back the tears as I gave him up to die.

I learned about death in that powder blue

’69 Chevy. Dad, my dog, and I.

by Derek Herzberg