It was a time when you could buy a candy bar or a soda pop for a nickel, and Kit candies came in a four-pack, individually wrapped and then the entire package wrapped together, all for a penny. It was a peaceful, trusting time when everybody knew everybody in our small town and nobody ever locked their doors.
I was at a friend's house one evening when his mother asked me if I liked cold chicken. I had never heard of such a thing before. It was at this same time that I learned that some families sometimes had food that they called "leftovers". We had never had those at our house, either.
Back in those days when I was young and foolish, back before we knew that we were "downwinders" and played outside every day in the radioactive fallout, after Sputnik but before we ever heard of beatniks, back when our only family vehicle was a 1949 Dodge Pickup truck, when we had no TV, no telephone, no computers and no internet, we had to think of creative ways to amuse ourselves.
U. S. Highway 89 south of Richfield, Utah, was (and still is) a two-lane highway, one lane in each direction. I used to like to thrill (or was it terrify?) my two younger brothers, when there was no oncoming traffic, by driving into the opposite lane and telling them I had to do it to pass "the invisible Jeep".
I don't believe either one of them ever asked me how I knew the Jeep was there if it was invisible.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem