The Museum of Transport

 

The Museum of Transport

Where is the red canoe?
    —Lashed to the roof of the van.

And the van?
    —Overheats. Stalls in Sacramento,
    so kids and I explore a paddlewheel
    riverboat converted to hotel.
 
Kids like it?
    —Meet a man shaky on a cane
    shows us what used to be the engine
    room. Says it was stinky and scorching.
    (“Like our van!” kids say.)
    Now it’s a wine bar.

So the van starts?
    —Not yet so we walk to the
    Railroad Museum. Step into a
    Pullman sleeper car, feel it rocking.
    As a child I rode one like this.
    It rocked.

Then the van starts?
    —Runs, stalls in Placerville.
    Kids and I push it to a shady spot.

What do the kids say?
    —They’re used to it.

Do you get there?
    —Yep. Finnon Lake.

And the red canoe?
    —Patiently waits. Never breaks.
    We untie, bring her down.

Worth it?
    —Sometimes, driving freeways,
    the brain overheats. Here, the antidote.
    We paddle, we glide. Lunar light
    splits the water, smooth as syrup.

Do you camp?
    —Frogs peep. Campfire murmurs:
        —It’s a long road to the moon
        but someday you may travel there.

And the red canoe?
     —May she never be history,
    never museum.

…..

First published in Sheila-Na-Gig. Thank you editor Hayley Haugen.
Painting by Janet Katherine MacKay.