Poetry Is Where You Find It Ii Poem by Frank Avon

I have always been intrigued by the names manufacturers give cars: Chevrolet was a famous European racer, Pontiac was a chieftain, Chrysler, Dodge, and Cadillac, frontier governors, Ford and Olds auto makers, DeSoto, an explorer, Plymouth, a pioneer settlement, etc. Then there was a time when we had Cougars, Wildcats, Mustangs, Impalas, Sting Rays, Marlins, Jaguars, and other ferocious beasts -all connoting wild adventure, even violence or speed - being challenged by the 'Beetle.' Human beings have an instinct for poetry, the skillful use of words to touch our hearts, our imaginations, our intellects; in a country and an era when poetry is not as widely beloved as it once was, this instinct expresses itself in multitudinous ways; e.g. what we call our cars, our streets and subdivisions, our apartment complexes, our trade names, even our children. And, oh yes, our food. Our family loves 'heavenly hash, ' 'ambrosia, ' and 'food-for-the-gods.' It goes on and on, infinitely. Infiniti!