Poppy's Jalopy

Poppy's jalopy is older than dirt

The bumper's all busted.

The squirter won't squirt.

The passenger door's tied shut with brown twine,

but I can climb through the window and get in just fine.

It's missing a hood.

The trunk doesn't close.

But the dice have some fuzz, and the horn sort of blows.

It's rusty and dusty,

our trusty jalopy. Just perfect for trips made by me and my Poppy. 

Poppy sticks in the key, shifts into gear,

turns the big wooden wheel that he uses to steer.

We chug down the lane through the sleepy old town,

past the Thank you for visiting! sign that fell down,

then ride the wide highway from all that we know

to places that Poppy and I want to go.

We drive out to see Niagara falls

and whether Old Faithful is faithful at all.

Loop-the-loop in the canyon — it really is grand,

drive deep in the jungle,

get stuck in quicksand.

Do a dinosaur dig among red desert rocks,

tailgate some camels ‘round pyramid blocks,

wake a volcano, find the lost city…twice,

ride an iceberg ferry in oceans of ice.

Drive till north becomes south,

then we’re headed back down.

Take a left at the fork —

and we’re home in our town.

Poppy's jalopy is battered and worn.

The rusty paint's chipped.

The leather is torn.

For years it's been sitting behind the woodshed.

The tires are flat.

The motor is dead.

It's rusty and dusty,

our trusty jalopy.

Just right for those trips made by me and my Poppy.

Adventures galore, all in one afternoon...

Tomorrow we're planning to swing by the moon!