A Girl and Her Car

When I first met you that distant July day,
your silver paint glistened in the summer sun.
Vacuumed gray carpet, matching cushy seats-
a nine year old beauty with which I fell in love.


You saved my life in countless ways-
transporation to school and a way to roam the state.
Throughout my sadistic senior year,
you sheltered me from my daily aches.


You've soldiered through abuses
no car should ever bear
from the mud bath you received for my graduation
to the drowning rains of numerous hurricanes.


The mud's been wicked away
as rust creeps on your edges.
I've beaten you, made you an old man
as you harbored the tears of my ripped-up heart.


You brought me home after my teacher rubbed my foot,
cradled me when my boyfriend left me for a lesbian
and whisked me away from a mother who yelled,
condemning me for thinking and having my own beliefs.


For so long, you catered to my whims:
flying down the highways, climbing up small hills,
venturing through Florida towns and
idling in the cities, choking but holding on.


Miami tripped you up,
and endless stops denied you your power.
You loved to run and hated to shift,
but city life is all jerking and stopping.


These cancerous stops and starts
have eaten you away. Now comes time for the disease
to carry you away in spite of the surgery
I had done; you won't last much longer.


Your new parts, still sparkling,
will not know the rush of speed.
The cancer will invade as time crawls by.
I tremble as I hold your keys.


Here in the graveyard, hundreds of metal bodies idle,
hacked up, rusting and even crushed.
Some surrendered parts of their lives,
while others had nothing left.


Moby, my automobile, your time has come.
I'll find a new way to fulfill my driving high to ease my aches.
In my heart, you will always be racing
down rural highways, mapping the land.