CHAPTER SEVEN Show Time  Go To Main Table  Go To More Book Chapters

Picture This

                By George J. Kimble


Dark cloudy days, weather constantly drizzling

Garage door open slightly swaying

Yellow light shaft extending, piercing

Rock beat barely discerning

Sand paper scruffing, syncopating

Images inside wispy, moving

Old Corvette on stands, posing

Dust filled atmosphere unsettling

Hours stacked upon hours, ticking

Evenings and weekends, passing

Calendar pages slowly flipping

Bitter season begrudgingly changing

Scent of solvents, emanating.

Gray primed body, anticipating,

Compressor droning, endlessly cycling,

Nozzle spraying, menacingly hissing,

Glaze appearing, tape unmasking,

Metallic clanking, chromium bolting,

Rubber bouncing, finally rolling

Roll up chattering, slowly opening

Sunshine glaring, completely dazzling

Reflections eye feeding, shamelessly glistening

Gestures satisfying, increasingly beaming

Darkest season expired, fruitfully bursting

New life emerging, Spring time gleefully showing

Udn Udn Inc.

                By George J. Kimble


Dank darkened rain slicked streets

People live down here you wouldn’t want to meet

Slowly cruising, looking for an elusive address

Lock the doors; put up the window glass

Udn udn

Finally, there on the right, a hand painted sign

The building and roll up door don’t look too benign

Then appears a man with his hat all askew

Yelling, “What’s up, you found us didn’t you!”

Udn udn

Sliver of light appears at the bottom of the door

Crossed checkered flags painted on the warehouse floor

There is another man with a scraggly beard

My whole body is shaking; I’m feeling sort of weird

Udn udn

He comes up and taps on the window pane

I think I need a shrink to examine my brain

I pop open the door and try not to fret

That scraggly guy is slowly circling my Vette

Udn udn

I say, “Man this looks like a chop shop”

I also hope he doesn’t think I’m a cop

There are cars of all models and makes

A thirty-two Chevy exposing disc brakes

Udn udn

A TPI engine hangs on a hoist

A ‘65 Vette body with paint still moist

Neatly arranged tools all shinny and clean

Spotless walls and everything in between

Udn udn

I spy a dyno and a jig for a frame

I feel better; I’m glad that I came

I give him my keys and admonish, “Take care of my baby!”

He says, “The Vette will be restored in three months, Maybe!”

Udn udn

Time goes by like a galloping Tortoise

Everything is done with precision and purpose

The body is finished and baked out for hours

The engine is rebuilt and dyno-ed at awesome horsepower

Udn udn

This Corvette is really going to go!

It’s so perfect it could win any show!

It’s hard to believe, in the bowels of the city

There is a place that converts hulks into something so pretty.

Udn udn

Now if you are out cruising around

And you find yourself in the seedy part of town

You may see UDN UDN scrawled upon a door

Have no fear, You know, what that stands for

Udn udn;  udn udn udn 


                By George J. Kimble


She sets there cool and aloof as a distant star

She draws in admirers from afar

She stands out above the rest

She poses so statuesque


Brightest hues adorn her skin so smooth

Everyone recognizes her beauty is so true

Yet there is such pity, I can tell

For the adorer of this Belle


Everyone knows the power she does possess

But alas no man will ever test

or coax her to snarl or gyrate

That essence of force she must only emanate


Yet in her youth she did often embark

Upon long sojourns into the dark

With sensuous motion portent of bliss

A careless abandoned flowing tryst.


Still time and distance showed their strain

And her motive force wretched with pain

Stressed, cracked, aged, and spirit degenerated

Her potent youth, she longed to have rejuvenated


Then as if guided by divine presence’s hand

A youthful restoration was began.

Many hours and days would pass forelorned

As bit by bit each iota was reformed.


Now in stillness of darkened bay

She awaits a judgment day

Then under veil she often goes

Upon a chariot in motionless repose


And whenever she has arrived

Her every wish is to be alive

To flare up and bellow loudly

To express her prowess proudly


Her benefactor, His fortune spent,

Now must take resolute content

Every honor he does record

The fruits of his labors are his reward


Like the phoenix from the ash arisen

This ’69 Corvette will never be driven

Because she has become so esteemed

She must rein forever as the Trailer Queen

A Glimmer

                By George J. Kimble


They gather there upon the green

Polishing and waxing their favorite machine

They labor intensely, over every detail they bother

The owners all act like expectant fathers


Their babies are groomed and pampered and cuddled

Heaven forbid they should encounter a puddle

They prefer the muscle cars of the past

It’s such a pity they never again will go fast


Then appear some guys with badges on their chest

They are the ones who decide which beauty is best

They circle and curtsey, eyeing every aspect

They jot down notes of each little defect


Then crowds gather with green envy upon their faces

Evoked youthful memories, their mind retraces

They mention Uncle Chuck’s or Cousin Jim’s

He was a character, but the girls all liked him


They revel in the power of their youthful bliss

They tell their kids they used to have one just like this,

Except theirs was another color and was only a six

And for a fleeting second the kid dreams that the Corvette is his


Now the owner’s smile is wide and brimming

Because he was able to sense what the kid was dreaming

Tires were smoking and the engine was thunder

His eyes were wide and filled with wonder


Crowds will walk up and cast broad smiles

Mentally transported through time and across many miles

The hours on the field pass with a flash

The time for the trophies has come at last


The owners gather with excited anticipation

Hoping their baby is given great recognition

Regardless of judgment each owner is grinning

It’s the moments, the people that are much more than winning