Red Car by Lynn White

The abandoned car stood on the waste ground,

rusting away, doors hanging off, leather seats ripped.

The children played there on warm summer days

but I was not allowed.

The place was dangerous

and the children were rough.

It was the first time I had ever been in a car.

I sat behind the wheel to drive it making

engine noises like a bus.

It was a black car.

In those days all cars were black.

Any colour you like, so long as it’s black.

I thought that a red one would have been nicer.



*First published in Blognostics, June 2018*

About the Poet:

Lynn White lives in north Wales. Her work is influenced by issues of social justice and events, places and people she has known or imagined. She is especially interested in exploring the boundaries of dream, fantasy and reality. She has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize, Best of the Net and a Rhysling Award.