Pick 'Em Up Truck

 

On the door

was the logo of my dad’s company:

Automotive Electric.

 

It was maroon,

and we could sit

four across in the cab,

even in our puffy winter coats

with faux fur-lined trim

and Moon Boots,

while sliding around

on the slush-filled

streets of Spokane.

 

In summer,

I’d lay canopied in the back

during long drives—

comics, coloring books, and Judy Blume’s spread out.

 

Once, on the way to the drive-in

I sat in back in a lawn chair

(it’s as redneck as it sounds)

and slid across the bed

when we nearly wrecked,

Mom fretting my injuries

through the connecting window,

Dad smoothing and “soothing” with a growl.

 

I wish I had it now,

to kick the tires

like my dad always did,

 

to pop a sleeping bag in the back

for the drive-in,

wearing my pajamas

like people do on airplanes now,

and to feel that Automotive Electric fly

just one more time.

 

 

© 2025 Jennifer Wagner

 

Through the Windshield