No one writes a poem about a car,
or to one! - yet, they populate our streets
in a variety of species, are
especial to the owner each, who treats
it as an extension of oneself, will
clean and polish it, and drive it with care;
a scratch, a reflection on one’s skill
that smarts - a dent, worse, the cost of repair
astronomical, heroically borne
to keep one’s social image intact; or
one lives with it, as many do, to learn
no one really cares; or that the glamour
of one’s car is personal vanity
when the aim is to get from A to B.
