The Front Seat

I recently heard Garrison Keillor on  NPR, reading from his book of poetry, O, What A Luxury: Verses Lyrical, Vulgar, Pathetic and Profound.  Like a lot of his work, the poetry he's written seems tailor made for the unpinnable "everyman", as it's simple, straightforward, and even rhymes.  And yet, within the simplicity of the work there is often something lovely to ponder on. 

Here's the poem that stuck with me, and made me feel nostalgic and slightly giddy:

"The Front Seat"

I fell in love in the front seat of a '56 Ford

At a drive-in movie, sliding over toward

A girl in shorts and necking a little

on a bench seat, no gearshift in the middle.

She was young and eager — it didn't take much

To slip her in gear and let out the clutch

But the beautiful bench where we performed our feats

Has been replaced by two bucket seats

And a brake lever, gearshift, and armrest

Between me and the girl I love best,

Which is sensible and safer, perhaps,

Two people restrained by safety straps,

But if safety were all that people thought of

Then who would ever fall in love?