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
Heather Pound 