the first true love

there was always
his car
on cinder blocks
in the grassy driveway.
a rotted
tarp
no longer stretched
but hanging
like a scarf
upon the canary hood.
the wheels were off
and stacked to the side,
rust could be seen on the panels.
he was always
waiting on
a part or two, or to have
the time to get it back
on the road again.
strangers
would sometimes stop
and ask
if it was for sale,
to which he'd smile,
and say.
no way, I could never
let my baby go.
it's my first car,
he'd say.
my first true love.