my parents had a volkswagen bus
baby blue on bottom, white on top
and i have no idea why, but i remember
exactly where the spare key hid.

that kombi van took us everywhere 
for a very long season, to shop and church
to lessons and to my brother’s soccer

games where our dad became the coach,
even though he’d never played, because no
one else would.

and each year, at least once, it drove us 
eight hours north to the place where 
my parents came from.

the place where a good share of my cousins 
still live. yet my folks were adventurous 
enough to move far away.

but on the return from one family voyage
in that beloved bus, we arrived at our home 
yawning and green 

and later learned the engine exhaust 
had crept back up though heating vents
into our waiting lungs.

and we were fortunate, really, to escape 
with just bodies efficiently working
to evacuate the carbon monoxide 

(although it didn’t feel great at the time!)

still, i invariably look with fondness 
upon the odd kombi van i see, reminding
me of family fun and adventures

and of my parents,
who although they lived  fairly normal lives,
didn’t always just follow the norm—

and how their example 
gave me the courage to do the same.

Photo by Ingo Doerrie on Unsplash