Long before the highway on top the hill
Sit two curious children, Bobby and Joan.
Of peculiar sorts, they wanted to ride
Down Greenbush Street just off the exit.
And so they concluded, for pennies were sparse
No car could carry them, it was just too far
But they had an idea, and they saw it before
Poor Bobby and Joan would travel the world.
And just past Greenbush Street, where the highway starts
Sit a graveyard of boxes among the blackberry bushes
Carrying dynamite to build I-81- their ticket out.
Young Bobby bought a box for the price of pickers.
Walking back one day, he carried four tires
He found them in the alleyway, amongst wood and wires.
He’ll tie them to the dynamite box, he thought
And boom, the mobile could fly.
Just down where the premature highway would lay
Joan and Bobby sit in their car, ready to run away.
A blush silk blouse and second-hand loafers
She was ready to leave her life behind.
Lean, he said, for the car could not steer
Two seconds too late, and head over heels
Going down Greenbush Street they crash
Into the blackberry bushes and the fence.
Pickers and berry stains bleed on her blouse
but then Bobby and Joan begin to shout
They made it! They made it! They learned to fly
The wheels rolled down the hill, the box, now flat.
Pounding with excitement, crashing in fear
The miracle dynamite-box car went too far.
They’ll try again next time, but with a steering wheel.
And now lie I-81, the highway on top the hill.
By Brooke Lamberti