Irma's Chrysler Saratoga hums. It's nearly old as she,
Passed down to her by Uncle Dan. She takes it out from
Time to time. A car so stately should go slow, so she
Avoids the frantic freeways, motoring, instead, along
The oak-lined Congrieve Boulevard. She smiles to
Herself as boys who'd been on bikes jump off to stare.
She'd ridden in that car when she was young. She has
No recollection. Still, when she is in it, she imagines how
The world was when Hitler'd been defeated, and the boys,
Like Uncle Dan, were home, a splendid world, she
Supposes, slower, better, more in keeping with
The Chrysler's hum.