Park me in some forgotten parking lot
somewhere between morning and dark
but check the damn air in the limpy tires
sometime after breakfast in a few years.
Run me to the ground, off a seaside cliff,
but sing me a song of love, some gentle riff
and I'll purr and cuddle, take you anywhere
so long as you use the clutch and check the oil.
December 26, 2020
Old Auto Woes
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