My Uncle’s Datsun Cherry

My uncle’s Datsun Cherry was a marvel to behold
For every journeys gambit brought adventure to the fold
Back then its grim arrival meant I’d instantly loose hope
My poor teenage indignation found it very hard to cope

It was a blazing shade of orange with one custard colored door
Carpet from the bedroom hid the hole worn through the floor
The winder for the window would be passed from front to back
And to put it in reverse you were required to have the knack

Made from rust and fiberglass, bits were always falling off
The other kids would laugh at it and jeer and point and scoff
My uncle would play up to it and proudly blow the horn
While I crouched down in the back feeling embarrassed and forlorn

Though not quite a transformer it was always changing shape
It had a coat hanger aerial and it gathered bits of tape
It ran better in the winter and would struggled through the nights
And choices were required between the radio and lights

After fifteen years of service it was finally cast aside
Two hundred thousand miles before its undercarriage died
Traded in for tuppence it had more than shown its worth
Practical and primitive, misery and mirth

 

©Rhymeclub.com

 

The car in the picture isn’t the Datsun Cherry of the poem. It’s in far better condition that that one. That’s to say that the bodywork looks better. It’s hard to say how the one in the picture ran but it would have to have ran well to be better than the one my uncle owned. For though it was a wreck, that didn’t affect its ability to get from A to B. And that was all my uncle cared about. He held little regard for aesthetics once practicality was covered.

I would have been different. At fourteen or so aesthetics held a higher station in my regard and in that of my peers. In fact aesthetics were all that they cared for. So when the orange Datsun with the yellow door would arrive to school to collect me it would be noted. Held in store for a bit and brought out again when needed. And it would be needed, the same as any possible source of rebuke could be held and slung out in the midst of battle.

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