Right from the start it wasn’t much, a ’62
Faded stripped down version I inherited
From my aunt, it spent its early years
Knocking around in the Bronx, alternate
Day parking, scratches, scrapes, and all,
But it was “wheels” for me at last, no more
Hitchhiking or borrowing the car to get
To school or work; it didn’t have a radio
So I brought along a transistor that didn’t
Always get a station, yet even in the dead
Of winter that baby would start right up,
Parked out in a snow bank, sometimes it
Was the only one in the neighborhood
That would; so being a townie I’d drive to
School, never missed a class, and then to
My night-shift job at IBM, adjusting posts
Hundreds a night, a job so dull I became
A chain-smoker and gained twenty pounds,
But after work each night I’d be the first
One out, leading the procession of cars
Out of the parking lot, up the road until
We got to that big hill, for some reason
The Fairlane could never do hills, it would
Chug and roar and slow to a crawl and
The cars behind, it’s hard to blame them,
Would start tailgating and honking, their
Day was finally done and my Fairlane and
I were in their way, we’d slow so down
That we’d almost stall and then, and then
When we got to the top of the hill we’d
Be off again full speed, pity the person
Who finally decided to pass just then,
If the radio was working I’d turn it up
Singing along, at that moment at the top
Of the hill, full speed, leading the pack,
Everything seemed possible, my life was
Starting to catch up what I wanted, and
My Fairlane was my chariot, my rocket ship,
Part of those nights, part of that dreaming,
That Fairlane was the only car that ever
Let me do that, let me feel that way.
-- J. K. Durick
