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My first four- wheeled conveyance

Story ID:5828
Written by:Monte Leon Manka (bio, contact, other stories)
Story type:Poem
Location:Hemet CA USA
Person:Chelsea Kansas Kid
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My first four- wheeled conveyance

My First 4 wheeled conveyance

Our neighbor to the south of us
Was going to have a sale.
My Dad was there and bid
On some hay that was baled.

Irving Buchanan was the farmer
That owned this farm, and tools.
The farm that I cut across
When I walked to Chelsea School.

For some reason I couldn’t go
No kids were there.
I guess they’re afraid we would disturb
The chant of the auctioneer.

Dad came home without the hay
But he had bid on a horse drawn carriage.
Irving had purchased, years ago
Just before his marriage.

The wood spoke wheels were perfect
The Axles were well greased.
The leather upholstery was a mess
Its beauty had long since ceased.

I hooked up my pinto pony
She wouldn’t move at all
I had to get the mules
Out of their stall.

Those mules, Old “Bob” and “Betty”
Could trot for miles and miles
Pulling this light buggy
While Leslie and I rode in style.

Down to the Sontags,
Over to the Brandts
Rode to the Welty’s
Down to the Doornbos ranch.

We covered all of Chelsea,
At some time or other
The Mules and Buggy
And Leslie, my little brother.

The buggy seat finally gave out
So I tried a few new tricks
Took the front seat
Out of the Hudson Super Six.

With a couple two by fours
And a Brace and Bit
Were rails for the new seat
A place for it to fit.

Pure Luxury on this buggy
We really rode in style
Rode in pure comfort
Mile after mile

The seat was great
Until it sat out in the rain
All the water soaked in
No place for it to drain.

After a week or so
The seat began to disintegrate
The cotton stuffing came out through the cloth
Didn’t take long to dissipate.

Threw and old canvas
Over the springs and we
Rode that buggy anyway
Over Chelsea, country.

The wheels started to come apart
Much to my dismay
Had to help with the farming
The buggy rotted away.

Today that buggy as it was
If in the same situation
Would be worth a million dollars
In perfect condition.

When we were kids
Out on the farm you see
We were only bored
When it was cold and wintry.

Then we headed for the pond, or river
Slung over our backs our skates
To while away hour after hour
Hoping the Ice did not break.

Now I’m older and not so bold
As when I was a kid
Lots of things I can’t do some of
The things that I did.

I’m happy here
At the monitor lookin
Hoping Shirley
Has something cookin.

Tis time to stop this poem
And get ready to eat
Wash my face and hands
And go to the table and take my seat.

Monte L. Manka 06-15-2006

(the picture is the same as my buggy without the top)