Behind the wheel listening to P-Funk in my new neighborhood
the blank stare of the shirtless Larry the Cable Guy lookalike sharpens
to crystal clarity as his lazy slouch straightens up into a confident
strut and the words Git-R-Done are banished forever from his lips.
The colors start to run on the confederate flag bumper sticker
on the pickup truck ahead of me, its starry X melting like
the Wicked Witch of the West turning into a smelly puddle of scum.
Having freed my mind from the “Our God is an Awesome God” sounds
that limp through the streets from the doorway of the Heaven Sent Shoppe
downtown until it oozes like toxic waste into the Shenandoah River, having
been lifted from the list of endangered species by a bop gun blast,
I am ready to stand tall in my off-white glory and the knowledge that
God does not appreciate those lame-ass Christian pop songs. I step
out of my minivan, open the back door and take my daughter
by the hand. “Who sang that song?” I ask and right away she
answers “P-Funk” because I’m trying to teach her what’s well
and what’s real and we glance at our house, stop and wave to
our neighbors, then together we turn to walk towards the future.
– Jose Padua
Photo by Jose Padua. Originally posted at On These Days Driving. Jose Padua is co-author of the blog Shenandoah Breakdown.
Poetry
Jose,
Those little consolations in the land of ‘Our God is an awesome God’ make all the difference. Nice ending: ‘together we turn to walk towards the future’.
Tim
Tim, yes the small consolations. And actually, driving around here playing P-Funk is, perhaps, a small consolation, but it’s a consolation I don’t think I could get anywhere else. Thanks!
What a vivid scene. P-Funk drawing that reaction out of your new neighbour is a great image.
Love how the poem lets the music do the transforming, the bumper sticker melting like the Wicked Witch is such a vivid image. There is something very true about how a great song on the car stereo can make an ordinary small town street look completely different for a few minutes.
The image of the confederate bumper sticker melting like the witch while the guy in the pickup straightens out of that lazy slouch is vivid. Taking your daughter’s hand after that drive and asking who sang the song is a quiet, great ending. The Shenandoah detail grounds the whole scene.
Watching P-Funk reshape a redneck town’s soundtrack is a better cultural report than another festival recap. The piece stays grounded in place and volume instead of mythology, which is why the band’s impact feels local and real. It’s the kind of writing that trusts noise and geography more than press kits.
The line about the small consolations stuck with me, especially the idea that the same drive can look different depending on what’s on the stereo. I’ve had that happen on a plain stretch of road near home, where one good track made the whole street feel less fixed. Oddly, it reminded me of messing with roof numbers on PitchCalc (https://pitchcalc.com/roof-area-calculator/) while the radio played, and how small recalibrations change what you see.
The ending with your daughter answering “P-Funk” right away got me, since that’s how this stuff actually gets passed on. I grew up in a small town where the radio in the car was the only thing that made the drive feel bigger than it was. Oddly, the melting bumper sticker image made me think of how people turn a single photo into a flex joke now with something like the Bicep Heart Generator at https://bicepheartgenerator.com, though your poem does it with music instead.
The moment with your daughter answering from the back of the minivan stuck with me more than the bumper-sticker scene. Teaching her what sounds real, then waving at the neighbors before walking on, feels like the actual reconstruction. That last turn toward the future lands quietly and well.