Jim Yerman

The Golf Cart - Poem by Jim Yerman

Our city is golf cart friendly and now that we’re retired we thought, “Hey”
There’s a green way to get around and I can take it to work each day.”

So we drove to the golf cart showroom thinking, ‘How expensive can they be? ’
They’re small, their light, there’s no gas engine, heck, they run on batteries.

Apparently golf carts have come a long way since our younger days of yore.
Yes, the golf carts of today aren’t just for golfing anymore.

They now have off-road tires, windshields and come in colors that delight
They’re even equipped with headlights for when you drive at night.

The price tags start at four thousand dollars which made my heart go bump
After all, it’s still only a golf cart. Who am I? Donald Trump.

For five thousand you can get flames on the sides and a top speed they call CRUISE.
For five thousand dollars it better come with a chauffeur! Who am I? Howard Hughes.

As Deborah and I saw our golf cart dream die and were dejectedly walking away
The manager yelled, “Hey I can give you a deal on one that was traded in today.”

He took us to an old white golf cart that was manufactured in 1997
It was a little weathered and beat up but to us it looked like heaven.

Heaven is a good description as this cart never saw one golfer’s shot
It was used by a funeral home to show off their cemetery plots.

In fact if you look close enough...and you really don’t have far to hunt
The remnants of the funeral home name rest in shadows on the front.

But we fell in love with that old cart even with her scratches and her scars
We bought her immediately and are proud to say that old golf cart is ours.

We strung prayer flags across her back and on her top painted stripes of green
With her blue hubcaps and ceiling to match she’s one fine looking machine.

We can imagine ourselves riding around to our neighbors envy and acclaim
Once we get a peace sign painted to cover the funeral home name.

Yes, we relate well to our old golf cart, after all we are both a little past our prime
But as long as our batteries keep working we should last a long, long time.

Topic(s) of this poem: Home

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Poem Submitted: Sunday, March 23, 2014

Poem Edited: Monday, March 24, 2014

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