(no subject)

[johnny9fingers]

A nasty piece of poetry for Madame e_compass_rosa. Probably helps if you know something of UK automobiles in the late 20th Century, but hopefully Madame will get the idea, no matter how poorly executed.

With apologies to e e cummings & Robert Johnson.

 

You know the way a car rusts:

Love rusts in the selfsame way.

It may stand, unpolished,

Unlooked after.

Then some years down the road from new

It fails to start

And gently falls apart.

 

And then one wonders

If repair

Is merely throwing good money

After bad.

 

Still one sees, along the road,

Gleaming ancient Astons, Bentleys

Even older.

Manoeuvring from their

Cotton wool garages

Parading for the world to see.

 

(I had a red Ferrari once,

 Was too young to appreciate its grace and power.

 One evening, drunk, uninsured,

 I drove it into a tree.

 

 Irreplaceable loss.

 

 I did once borrow, without I might add, the owner’s knowledge,

 An E-Type, but then my conscience

 Made me put it back

 Before the owner missed it

 

 With hardly a scratch.)

 

And now I wonder

Should I spend my time and effort

Restoring my old and battered Escort.

 

And if I don't

Will I spend my days from now

In hired cars

And taxis.

 

J.B.

22/01/90