Poets' Practice Pad

The sniveling worm that you are,
forgotten and clueless,
you stay in the garage
out of my sentimentality
instead of slithering on the street
then stopping out of breath,
and refusing to make a left.
The only reason I keep you
is because once upon a time
you carried my kids,
their teammates, and
the only dog I had.
No dawdling engine
can match your performance,
your clumsy looks,
or my love for you.
My dear 1978 Chevrolet Impala Station Wagon,
now, even GM
is out of commission
just to make you
feel better about yourself.





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