Broken Down Horses

That rusting, dirty old Mustang
starts with a bellow and clang.
Black smoke pours from headers,
like mosquito killing fog spreaders.
Following me down the street,
a trail of oil drips upon the concrete.
I drive along unmindful of environment
and the tepid air coming from the vent.
"Put that thing in the landfill!"
"Bet you can't make it up a hill!"
I smile and wave as I motor away,
followed by a cloud of light gray.
A pony car was my childhood dream,
different from this reality it would seam.
That rusting, dirty old Mustang
starts with a bellow and clang.