The Camper

by Godfrey J. Ellis – December 2002

This is another poem about a childhood memory and the emotions surrounding my relationship with my dear mother.

Somehow, some way, we were at a fair,
An auto fair, a truck show,
With cycles, and racing cars, and polished antiques.
Chrome everywhere.
Why were we there?  I don’t know.
It was in an aircraft hanger, or so it seemed,
Must have been a city block square,
With loudspeakers shouting in the air,
And people massing here and there and everywhere.
And me, a mere nine.
 
It was rare to be at such a place, but we were there,
My mother and I, me and Mum, Mum and me.
A little boy, with light hair and complexion fair.
I don’t remember if my brother was there – but probably.
Vague memories of racing cars, more chrome, shining color,
Cross-country semi-trucks and motorcycles.
I wasn’t very interested; my brother would have been….
 
But I remember one truck, a pickup truck, one pickup truck…
With a camper!
I’d never seen such a thing – the seats were bouncy soft;
One day, I’d be able to see over the steering wheel, one day,
And, in the back, there was that camper with aluminum sides,
And a window …and even a door.
With huge bench seats that folded into giant beds, oh my!
And a tiny sink (just my size) and a table, folding down,
With little cupboards and drawers hidden in every hole and crevice.
I thought, what a wonder, all of this!
This marvelous, spacious, living-room on wheels,
Built for seeing the world.
 
And look!  It extended above the cab, making another tiny sleeping nook.
“Who’d sleep there?” my mother scoffed.
“I would!”  It was perfect, just my size.  “Can we buy this, Mum?”
She laughed the laugh of a single-mother,
A single-mother with three children,
Alone and lonely with a low paying job and lots of bills.
“Then, I’ll buy it Mum!  
When I grow up, I’ll buy it…and we’ll tour the United States,
Just you and me.
And nobody will bother us, you and me.
We’ll go all over!  What a grand idea!”
And I meant it.  …Oh, I meant it.
 
The gruff-voiced Grinch salesman grunted,
“Why you’ll be married by then, son!
You’ll take your wife, not your mother.  That’s silly!”
But it wasn’t silly.
Mum and me.
I’d grow up and we’d tour the United States,
Just Mum and me. 
But, somehow, I secretly knew the salesman was right.
I didn’t want him to be right.  I wanted my idea to come true.
I wanted to go around the country with my lonely mother…and be her hero,
Me and Mum
Mum and me.
 
Now my hair is gray and my mother’s is white.
We never did tour the United States, together.
She married a fine but feisty, fiery French-Canadian who took her many places.
They toured the United States
…on a Greyhound bus.
And I took my wife to France
many times, and England
many more.
And we lived in Oklahoma.
But I never bought a camper….
I never bought that camper,
I never toured the United States
with my mother,
Just her and me,
Me and Mum,
Mum and me….