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
