She, He, Me

She was a bright baby blue at birth

And has over time been reduced
To a pale and dulled version of that.
These days, after seventy-years on
The road and still running, she can

No longer achieve a zero to sixty
Speed in eight seconds or less, but
Still sputters and putters around to
Somehow get me about. (Even though
She is actually a he, I refer to him as

She in honor of and respect for the
Opposite sex.) Some would claim,
Due to her age that she’s a classic.
In her current condition, others may
Call her a heap. But the nuts and bolts

Of reality for me is that she, in her mis-
Firing and dilapidated way continues
To earn her keep. She abhors the cold
Weather, resisting to turn over on
Blustery winter days, and tends to boil

Over when subjected to exposure of
Summer’s excessive humidity and heat.
Her MPGs are no longer economical,
But still she manages at all cost to earn
Her keep. A good mechanic may estimate

Her worth in terms of her weight as scrap.
And who am I to argue with that? But, my
Friends, in the final analysis, she’s all I’ve
Got. This transportation of which I speak
Is neither car nor truck, not a vehicle of

The all-wheel, cross-over variety. It hap-
Pens to be flesh and blood reality, a de-
Scriptive summary of deteriorating muscle
And bone which I must now refer to reluc-
Tantly as, “Rickety Old Jalopy, Me.”

Chris Hanch 5-10-17