the yellow mg

your friend
had a yellow mg,
like a small
fragile bird,
in the early
eighties.
how many times you
helped her
push it
down the late
night streets
of dc, through
Georgetown,
you lost
count.
parking on a
hill was key
to jump starting
the car
towards home.
hanging on for
dear
life with the top
down, the music
up, the stars
all around, her
hair
in the wind
forever young.