Ford Explorer

This book deals with the Firestone tire fiasco with Ford,
but many Explorer accidents were due more to its
pre-2002 unsafe design.

Everyone has a fantasy.
Mine is winning a brand new Explorer,
shining, beautiful, gleaming in the sunlight,
and beating it beyond recognition
with a sledgehammer. Someone would
post it on YouTube and I could tell the world
in one fell swoop what I think of Ford.

I dream of being rich enough to
to buy up all the old ones, before 2002
at least, every single one an accident
waiting to happen. My price would be
fair, more than, so no one 
would turn me down.

Design flaws abound.
Ford knew it, knows it still.
"Acceptable collateral damage."
How do they sleep at night?

Changes made,
too late to save my son's life.
Many lives.
Profit vs. people. 
They've never come clean,
not even after the crashes started. 
Winning a few lawsuits hardened their hearts. 
My heart is hard too.

Cold day in hell before I drive one. I'd rather walk. 
If they'd just say they fucked up,
that they're sorry. Something.

I should have seen the research, asked more questions.
Should've made him wait, not made it happen.
Dream car, he'd pay me back
a little each month. "Should'ves"  crush
like the hood of an Explorer rolling over
and over in the wee hours of the morning.

Official story: driver lost control. Vehicle rolled.
Driver ejected, suffered head trauma. 
Not speeding, not drinking, bent down
to scratch his leg or change a CD,
ill-fated design kicking in with a vengeance.
Where is mine? I sent Ford his photo,
no response to that stellar smile. 
Maybe the CEO tossed it into a drawer
with the rest, stuffed full of fallen Fords,
a list of outraged mothers and fathers,
husbands and wives. They'll be wary
of them if they're smart.

I like to think he died, and then the accident,
God calling him to heaven. The Explorer,
driverless, out of control, ejecting his already
lifeless body for us to fret over
for days, while he partied in eternity.
No panic, no impact save that on our lives.
Much more preferable than the alternative: 
I bought the car that caused his death.
My signature sealed his fate.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2012

Yes, I know that God's ways are higher than ours and that he can do whatever the hell he wants to do without having our permission or approval. Ford couldn't do anything God didn't allow. He either allowed it or caused it. He certainly could have prevented it at many steps along the way. Blah, blah, blah. Don't get your knickers in a twist. I am allowed to vent and rage and cry and accuse and tell God I hate him, as I did one day at Adam's grave. Immediately I heard that still, small voice I know and trust despite everything: "Yes, but you love me too." God can handle my anger and understands my grief. If you can't, that's okay. Just keep it to yourself, please. I can't reach Ford, but I might just reach you!