SUNDAY DRIVE

SUNDAY DRIVE

Roger A. Davis

It is a wonder I'm still alive
See, most Sundays we went for a drive
Destination, one of our parents’ folks
Crammed in our sedan, like six egg yolks

Imagine four youngsters, about 1 year apart
Battling for pecking order at every start
Dad threatening us all with bodily harm
But threats never worked the charm

Mom would get her two cents in, too
But us kids would continue to feud
One too many a, "Don’t touch me," episode
Until, stressed out, Dad would explode

He would not bring the car to a stop
Just reached over the seat, giving the nearest a pop
That would quiet us for a couple miles
But, inevitably, we kids would begin our wiles

There were two major distractions on our trips
First, three miles of steep hills and dips
Dad enjoyed making our stomachs do flips
Mom wondering if breakfast would pass our lips

Second, an old wooden bridge without rails
With each passage, it shook and loosed more nails
Upon this peril, my heart would race
Thinking, certain death I was about to face

Seeing our grandparents was fun on these treks
And we all survived, not having any car wrecks
Next story, The Million Dollar Highway Survivor
Or, Roger Davis: The Greatest Snow and Ice Driver