Grandpa Jack was a retired union man 
of McLean trucking, and the keenest back-
seat driver I have ever known. “Watch out
for old snake hips!” he’d blurt every time

another car came anywhere close to us.  
I never learned why that expression,
but got the message and gave a wide berth.
Whistling hymns through his teeth, suddenly

he’d bolt upright, then holler “The limb 
of the law is at the bottom of this hill!”
I obliged, pumping brakes all the way down.

“Thanks for driving, son, my engine’s gone 
            Republican on me.” he’d say about 
            his kaput Chevy, when we arrived back home.