It's all over between me and the Geo. This bittersweet occasion calls for a buttload of haiku:
Good night, sweet Geo!
We've had good years together.
This one, not so much.
Your alternator
Died in '99, '06,
And again now. Christ.
Also, your muffler:
Always about to fall off.
What's that all about?
But I always liked
Your distinctive growl, and the
Two missing hubcaps.
Out there in the street
Without your tapes, maps, bike rack
You look so lonely.
I hope you don't mind
Being donated, not sold
Hope they don't melt you.
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8 comments:
I hope this was cathartic for you. I found the process of cleaning out the car to be highly stressful, as evidenced by our brief spat when it was done. Is this what we have to look forward to when the kids are grown and off to college? Also, I hope they don't get melted.
Now, now, kids. You've got it wrong. When the kids are grown and off to college, you get to strip their rooms of teenage stuff and rearrange everything, so they can come home on vacation and feel totally lost. That way, they'll appreciate more the way things once were.
Actually, that's not right. Still, getting rid of a car can be traumatic. We got rid of 2 of them recently, and I still occasionally think "wouldn't it be nice to have the van again to carry that stuff?" Then I remember I could no longer depend on the van to get me places and home again.
Sad to see it go
But it was no safer than
A huge Bag O' Glass
(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saturday_Night_Live_TV_show_sketches)
Oil spots on the ground,
Dangerous fumes spewing forth.
Hazardous to health.
so long, dear geo
now, like good yuppies we say
welcome to zipcar
I never knew your Geo, but this inspired me to write two Haiku to my 1980 Datsun 510 station wagon:
Silvery wagon
3 a.m. drive on a flat
Sparks fly in the night
Old, ready to go
Not yet! Us, popping the clutch
Jump in like the Dukes
bagel plate, Geo
zooming Montgomery
good luck on your bike
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