to William Carlos Williams

I have this red fire truck
The gold 5 proudly painted on each door
It sits perched upon our highest shelf
In the corner by the eaves

Exactly how it came to me
I can’t quite recall -
An auction or yard sale
In Clarendon, Stowe, or Ludlow
One of those Vermont towns
A long, long time ago.

You should know it was very rusted
Which made me love it all the more
I knew I was meant to have it
Because of that number 5

Our family home is 5 Allerton Street
5 children in our brood
And the east end fire house
Home to Pumper Number 5

For eighteen years
I watched that rugged engine
Rush to every fire in town
Johnny Alexander dropped his hammer
    

Ducky Perry left his traps, as every volunteer
Jumped on board, when number 5 drove by

Most fires were small and quickly out
Though some took it all,
like our movie theater, “The Moors”
And Murchison’s Castle
But “The Lobster Pot” still stands today
Thanks to those volunteers.

And I recall where I was sitting
When I first read your poem
How it brought my past alive
With the clang, clang, clang
Of Pumper Number 5.