Years ago son Dan, a mechanical
engineer, advised his Dad about
the superb mechanics of the vehicle.
Paul acquired our sporty bronze Jaguar
from the Turkish embassy in Chicago,
driven a mere four thousand miles
before driviang home his bargain.
Sleek, sophisticated and jazzy, this car
gave Paul a new aura of professionalism,
establishment success that had eluded
the son of a factory man. Miles and years
later, a van bore into him from behind,
loaded with kids arguing with their mother.
It took five months to straighten the Jaguar's
crinkled body; Paul's back will never recover.
On the road again, miles mounted as more
years rolled by. Burled wood dashboard
remained dashing, tan leather seats still
buttery and svelte, scratches kept to
a minimum. The car looked nearly new,
a model change delayed by Jaguar for years.
The tall sleek couple came dressed for
a sophisticated encounter. Her black skirt
ended mid-calf, paired daringly with red
ankle-strap slippers. His slacks draped
elegantly above black tasseled loafers.
Her long dark curls tangled youthfully
and his tousled white locks looked
Clintonesque, giving the chic pair tacit
entitlement to this classy-looking car.
Retired university professors, the well-
dressed couple checked over our Jaguar
with many questions, carefully slipped
out of the driveway on a test run, zipped
with pleasure at high speed when out of sight
of the sellers. Dressed fit to kill, the car
and its new drivers made a good-looking
team: sleek, sophisticatead and jazzy.
The Jag a winner.
first published in Illinois State Poetry Society
©2009 Bonnie Manion