Summer Vacations - Poem by Robbie Spitz
Summer trips to Texas, dreaded by my mother, sisters, and me.
Visiting cousins who hate, and tolerate us. Yuck!
I hear my mother whisper to her sister. "Here are the insurance policies,
just in case we're in an accident and die." Boy!
I don't want to go.
The long lonely highway stretching before me.
Sixteen hours, feeling cramped and trying to make the best of it.
This endless journey of the Alphabet game, count the cars on the
trains, spot the other states license plates, and gesture to truck
drivers to blow their horn.
There are a few stops along the way, gas for the car, potty breaks for
four little girls.
Food brought from home to save time and money.
Texas always brought about images of tornadoes, these were the images
I saw upon entering Texas.
I knew we were going to die in a tornado.
Oh, what thoughts go through this young girl's mind.
At last, I see Nana. It's so good to see her, but she seems smaller and
frailer then last summer.
I smell the heavenly aromas of her sweet tortillas coming from the
comal. I long to have a taste.
Daddy's with his compadres, I hear them singing in harmony.
Oh don't you just love the sweet sounds of the guitars?
My sisters, cousins, and I are listening for the train's whistle. Wow,
can't you hear it? A lonely echoing in the distance.
We wave to the engineer and he waves back.
Ay mama, lo siento.? Por que trabajas mucho?
Not much of a vacation for mom, just like being at home.
So tireless in her endless watch for dangers.
Run a snake over with her car here.
Squish a tarantula with a rock there. A mother's watch is never done.
Oh yes! Vacation is over, time to head on home.
Oh no! Another endless trip, nine hundred miles, sixteen hours, and
I don't want to leave.
Here we go again, A there's Abilene, I see Mississippi license plate,
there's fifty-nine cars on that train, and he just blew his horn.
Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about Summer Vacations by Robbie Spitz
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
A Dream Within A Dream
Edgar Allan Poe