She

She's more than a car,

More than a sleek black color.

She's more than a vehicle with weapons in the trunk,

More than a place to play the oldies.



She's a masterpiece,

A pure and perfect piece of transportation.

She's a home for two boys,

With the occasional third or forth ally.



She's been through tons,

Crashed into and beaten back into shape.

Her engine ain't never given up,

Since she's obedient to her owner.



She's shiny and clean,

Though the occasional soldier has been tucked into the small compartment on the car's door.

And near that same door, on the seat,

Those stupid and dangerous boys have signed their names: Dean W. and Sam W.



She's a car who listens to every word her passenger says.

She's a 67 Chevy Impala.

She's Dean's first love.

She's Baby.