Sally was a bad *****

Her pristine white coat was masked in a layer of dirt
She rode alongside rebels and freelovers

A warranty was nothing to this big mama as she charged toward unpaved roads
Although she often ran close to falling of she always pulled it together

Her life had little similarity every day a new man or woman
Driving with her to new places

She carried a large load of some fifteen foul smelling mouthed individuals
We weighed her down and she still rode as smooth as a mustang

Sally was a big girl maneuvering swiftly through tight situations with the help of a trusty operator

A hairpin turn was nothing to a girl of this much experience
She was often placed in risky business

When she sojourn through the dunes of the mojave
A new name was given amongst the sandy wastes
Thus making her mojave Sally

Sally’s weight was lifted when our journey ended with her
This is when another man or woman began their journey with her

Sally was a bad *****

People accumulate items of the past
Jewelry, books, antiquities all that clutter
They give it up for little to nothing
“Why is it of no value to them?”

The purveyors of
Pawn shops, book stores, consignment shops
Are puzzled
“What are these items, and why are they given up”
Although it is their job to figure out where the volumes are from and what they are about.

These volumes lay on shelves sometimes sold
Sometimes collecting dust for years at a time
The customers past by without a glance at these relics
When one wanders into a place without a purchase in mind they are greeted by those who are there to assist
“What is it you have for first editions? Got any signed copies?

The keep of the till is taken off by these questions
Although he slowly becomes

invested in conversation
“Oh have you heard of this one we just received”

After developing a repertoire of with the young bearded man I ask him
“What is your favorite or uh oldest piece”

As the conversation moved onward a frail book was handed to me
“How old do you think this is?”

I turned the spine to read 1543
Thumbing through the pages I wondered what it is about, and where has it been
The keeper nor I knew nothing of this Ancient tome
This is the sad truth of many tales
They get lost along the way.