Dear old car, you were never flashy,
never brash, never one to wink at passers-by.
You never begged for favors or attention,
never demanded high-test fuel or care
beyond the biyearly oil change.
Quiet silver companion, with hubcaps
so scarred no one bothered to steal them,
I valued and depended upon your steadiness
and preference for the slow lane.
We aged together well, made allowances
for each other’s growing frailties.
When one window mechanism failed,
I just opened a different window,
and pretended all was well.
When a side view mirror cracked off
on a garbage can, or a chimney,
or a school bus, or a telephone pole,
you knew it would be repaired,
with none the wiser. You never told.
But O my friend of many years,
the rust can no longer be ignored,
and the world would be a safer place for all,
were I to have and use a back-up camera.
Our ride together is drawing to an end.
How to say goodbye when we must part?
Let’s just say farewell, and have faith
we will meet again on some distant shore,
wherever it is failed flesh and metal
rust side by side and watch the waves.

© by Pat Hale.
Used with the author’s permission.