My Car!

Oh Grandma, your smile;
So bright!
Alas, I must go home, go home
Alas, I must go home.

But my car, my car!
I left it oh so near.
I’m not mad – I’m no loon.
Alas, my car is gone.

Oh police – they hunt;
They search.
For a car left so near.
Alas, I must only wait.

The phone, it rings – it rings
My car is found:
The man explains.
Alas, his results are strange.

The policeman goes on:
My car is still near.
Yet in it sits a mad Scotsman
Alas, he has painted it tartan!

Oh my tartan car,
I overlooked!
Squatters’ rights – this he claims
Alas, I stare in wonder!

Oh the shock – the shock!
My car is now another’s’ home.
Who am I to deny?
Alas, I walk home slowly.
Alas, I have no car!


Poetry form: Free Verse

Written for: "The Writer's Cramp"  on 19th October 2015