There is a fine line between a classic
And used-up.
Sometimes, it’s not the number of drivers
That gets your attention,
But how miserable the miles were earned.
I can’t take credit for good gas mileage
While the wind was at my back.
Perhaps the difficult driving,
Uphill and fighting the wind,
Is the only type that counts for anything.
I know three things for certain:
That I am badly in need of a tune-up,
That no matter what I wish,
Or what anyone else may say,
I do not run better on ethanol,
And that, after one too many terrific test drives
Which ended with selecting a different model
With fewer miles
And features,
I have lost my faith in fair afternoons
And cheeseburgers.
When finding peace within
Is like looking for wholesome crumbs
Waiting, hiding beneath the seat,
At some point, you stop putting out the sign
Reading: Runs good - Reliable - Real Value,
And you start parking, waiting
For the first person to come along
Who needs to go somewhere
Tonight