I grew up in Elkhart, Indiana, the mobile home capital of the world. The industry has never really gotten much respect, despite providing affordable housing and recreational opportunities. A friend of mine bought several acres of farm land to build a country home, but has been forced to live in a manufactured home that came with the property. It was in such bad shape that they chose to live in the barn until it was thoroughly sanitized, fumigated, and painted. It will still be awhile until they can build their dream home and in the meantime have remodeled the barns, extensive garage, and vehicle stalls to accommodate a collection of family heirlooms. 

I’m framing this humorous poem as a housewarming gift, so they will always remember their life together in a mobile home or trailer – probably the last place they would have ever envisioned living. Fortunately, they have a sense of humor. At least, I hope so….

Tindle Trailer

Call it manufactured,
Or double-wide.
It’s a mobile dwelling,
Where Tindles abide.

Was it a meth lab?
Or redneck haven?
It’s certainly not,
Worth even savin’.

On first inspection,
A scary space.
Could have been,
A junkie’s place.

At first, the barn,
Had more appeal.
But elbow grease,
Gave a homey feel.

A clean bathroom,
And coat of paint.
With a log on the fire,
It’s cozy and quaint.

Wheels or not,
It’s temporary.
For Matt and Rebecca,
Occasionally Perry.

With all the projects,
They’ve been dealt.
It’s fortunate that she,
Wears a tool belt.

Cars and a pump,
Family heirlooms.
Arts and crafts,
Many storage rooms.

Neon lights,
Tractor signs.
Hub caps, Golf clubs,
Other precious finds.

Construction plans,
A mountain view.
Land to lease,
A life anew.

Green Acres,
Trash now treasure.
To tear it down,
Will be their pleasure.

In the meantime,
Don’t come knockin’
Especially when,
The trailer’s rockin’

copyright 2021 johnstonwrites.com