Especially for my Friend Who is a Writer

My poetry-loving friend requested a viewing of the poems I so lovingly penned about my car. The first poem was written for a contest last fall, while the second was written just after I sold "Miss Beatrice" to the junkyard. Though I may sound rather bitter in these poems, please know I am considerably less angered now. I even think back on my short time with Miss Beatrice with some nostalgia. Without further ado...

Ode to Miss Beatrice (Part 1)

Our first day together, three times in the snow

"Miss Beatrice" got stuck and she wouldn’t go!

I live in Minnesota, snow is a given!

My car needs to keep up with where I’m livin’.

For $500, I bought this piece of junk

And soon discovered she’s in a permanent funk!

More than the worth of my crappy car

Is what I’ve spent to save my life, so far.

Oil disappeared, the steering wheel would shake!

Plus a dangerous leak of fluid from the brake.

A noisy exhaust leak caused glares and pain;

And Carbon monoxide threatened my brain!

I’ve fixed the most dangerous parts of my car,

But Miss Beatrice keeps raising the bar.

Three windows, two mirrors, one lock, the horn

These things don’t work – how forlorn!

Rusty drums, no Oxygen sensor

She’s an oil burner with bad fuel pressure.

Bad struts, and burning smells won’t let me be

Plus, it devoured my choir CD.

Toxic fumes and blue clouds waft from my car

Almost 200,000 miles…I'm afraid to travel far!

The windshield wipers are neon yellow

Plus the dents and rust – it makes me bellow!

Miss Beatrice is only 15 years old,

But the leaky trunk is growing some mold!

America's worst car is surely my own,

and each day I'm never sure I'll actually make it home.

I don’t care what I get in return,

I just laugh at the thought of seeing her burn!

When you're driving down the highway, and wonder, "What's that smell?"

Look over - it's me! In the car from....you know where.

Ode to Miss Beatrice (Part 2)

Miss Beatrice, my time with you is finally done.

Because of you, my dignity was overrun.

For ten long months you sought my demise;

I know now that purchasing you was unwise.

The oil-burning engine left a putrid aroma

The carbon monoxide could have put me in a coma!

But all of your attacks I have survived

Though, of oxygen, my brain was deprived.

Pushing, sliding, cracking, jumping

Why were you intent on abusing?

Since March, you’ve run up a bill quite nice,

More than 35 times the trade-in price!

Now I’ve sold you to the junkyard

Still, my budget and existence are truly scarred.

Though your existence I surely abhor

You won all the battles, but I won the war.