Issue 3:1 | Featured Artist | Jon Hounshell

Coming Down
Jon Hounshell

Top down in the Karmann Ghia.

Roaring in German, it loves the winding road,

singing an Italian love song while

screaming from the mountain

meandering through the mist

into the clearing air.

Bursting. Bursting from the heart of the clouds,

from the very sky itself; low flying bird,

echoing the heavens in its chrome;

streaking red steel twisting,

cutting up the hillside

into the blue above.

Waving.  Waving hands in the Karmann Ghia,

between the shadows rolling ‘cross the hood

soaking up the sun in glory;

shifting gears up and down

groaning around the curves

into hysteria.

Throwing.  Throwing apples from the open car

against the passing boulders with whooping yells

exploding in fine Appalachian apple juice;

laughing, stupid singing

making jokes and mooing

at unsuspecting cows.

Shooting photos in the rearview mirror,

silver halides and moaning engine,

cooling shade and biting sunshine,

dropping height and beckoning woods,

deep...  deep...

amidst giant mountains so close together.

Waterfall and sunlit dust beams mock us

popping over the tiny rocks in the road.

The car rests in serenity.

In peace the Ghia rolls like the clouds,

Taylor’s Valley, Green Cove Station.

We creep over the Creeper Trail.

Parading.   Parading in the Karmann Ghia.

Born on the fourth of July, the veteran,

down the streets of Damascus

waving to the fans on main street

high above the windshield

sitting in stardom.

Melting.  Melting into the blazing sun,

engulfed by wind and freeway sound,

magic legend, the engine whines.

chrome and steel,

we just feel

we could touch the sky itself.

Then, the blue wonder swallows us again

in a flare of brilliant light...

us and the little Karmann Ghia.

September 30, 1994