Cars Through The Years: They All Had Their Names Pt.5 Poem by Frank Avon

It was time for a van.
A Dodge, blue and white,
just like Dimples, but a whale.
Moby Dimple was her name.
Moby Dimple she became.
All through teenage years:
Christmas trees, lawnmowers,
ski trips for college students,
computers and TVs, antiques,
a poogle named Tennesee,
a Pomeranian named Buttons,
several of Pfandy's litters,
Siamese cats and manx kittens,
Cupcake and Jellybean and Gunpowder
and several of Cupcake's litters,
backhoes, twin beds and mattresses,
desks, sleeping quarters
for three or four or five
youngsters (no seat belts, yet)
to see families in Tennessee
to see DC and Williamsburg
('oh no, Mommy's got her map out,
it's time for the Smoky Mt. unit') ,
Virginia Beach and Crescent Beach,
South Padre and Matamoros,
and finally the Big Move to Florida
(with illegal house plants aboard,
and Buttons sleeping on the floor) ,
to become Gators for life
just two of us once again
(in an era of serial killings)
and our faithful, crotchety,
long-serving, fatigued, scrappy
Moby Dimple. Living among
Preludes and Sonatas,
Mustangs and Thunderbirds - and Jaguars
at the shiny, pink apartments
on the outskirts of rainy Gainesville,
among well-tanned, wealthy undergrads,
Moby Dimple dared Ahab to intervene.
She made herself right at home.
She often coughed and strained,
and limped along and fainted,
but she plugged on, and she plugged on.