Ode to my Beater

Ode to My Beater

Crumbled leaves, matted hair, and dust

Sticking to my center console rust;

The Chaos of Neglect;

A rejected mess.

Forget the fluff,

Forget the fuss,

Ignore the buzz,

It luh-huvs the hums of bums,

The trees, The PhD’s, 

The Spirits of Pedestrians, 

Mounting, Trekking, up and down streets,

Strolling moms eat some crust.  

Only Children can ride in here.

They laugh and call it the “Seaweed Car”.

A noble name for such a vehicle!

When rainstorms leave willow strands,

And bee flowers pour syrup…

Upon my window panes and doors;

The Décor is so Demonstrative.

A spectacle, fit for a parade.

I smile and drive on by,

Obliviously sometimes…

Glossy cars keep their distance.

An ant crawls up my dashboard.

He creeps and seeps into the air vent.

A major Gross Focus.

.

I look away to forget it’s there.

Where is it going?

Oh, who cares.

I let it live.

Altruism or Heathenism…

I could have killed it.

It revs a self-righteous cleanse.

Wiper mist hits front ends.

My mockery of a jalopy pretends.

 Those cars are his friends.

The Prius,

The Tahoe,

The Mercedes-Benz;

Fends for itself.

On highways my Volvo cruises,

Like Medusa on a unicycle.

On a cycle path for bikes,

Participants swerve past,

Murmuring lambast.

Chicken neck sticks between us;

Obligatory pecking stares…

We blend into trucks.

We Know,

We should try harder,

Try to get further ahead,

Try to get it together,

But here we are instead.

Driving in the suicide lane,

Doing our best,

Enjoying the scene like it’s some sort of fest.