The Yellow Scooter Poem by Robert Charles Howard

Every child of nine knows
the universe is a jagged shape
edged by home and park
and school and market -
at least that’s the way I knew it

and all the world’s kids
went to Kinney school
and everyone's dad
worked at Lincoln Park Tool
while mother stayed at home.

So my world shook that evening
as I speared my peas
when father broke news
that we soon would move
to a distant galaxy
at least a dozen miles away -
entirely peopled by aliens.

Well it wasn’t so bad after all -
my brother and little sister
were allowed to come with us
and we kept the same grandparents too.
New friends popped up everywhere
like rainbows of tulips in May.

The house was all fresh and new
but it had no lawn as yet,
so a rusty old dump truck rumbled up
and left us a mountain of soil.

Needing no invitation,
I grabbed a shovel and used it
moving and spreading
and didn’t stop 'til dinner
then went back and shoveled ‘til dark.

The pile was nearly flat
by afternoon next
when Dad came home
in his brand new fifty-three Ford
and steered it right up the driveway -
hitting the horn to call me over,
“Son I need your help.”

Dropping my shovel
I sped to the open trunk
and stared in shocked disbelief.
In a squeal of ecstasy
known only to nine year old boys
I circled Dad's waist with my arms,
then gratefully unloaded
the best yellow scooter
of any boy's wildest imagining.

September, 2008