But She Was Shiny

it was a shiny old car
with balloons dangling
from the antennae,
right off the lot.
I test drove it.
took it around the block for
a spin.
rolled down the windows,
put the top down.
hit the pedal on the open
road to see what she's got,
then drove
it back to the salesman
and said, i'll take it.
she's mine, where do I sign,
show me the dotted line.
he put the contract in
front me, nine pages long,
the print so small I
couldn't read it.
Trust me, he said, slapping
me on the back, she's
a beauty, she'll last.
she's one of a kind.
we just put a clear coat on her,
and ignore all those
miles on the odometer.
it's a lot, but those are church
going miles,
flea markets, that sort of thing,
occasional trips to the market.
okay, okay, i said, I believe you,
but I didn't read the fine print.
I missed the part about
the flood, the wrecks,
the transmission fluid leaking
and the axle being broken.
I didn't have a clue about
the three
previous owners who
abused her, never changed
the oil, or filters, let
the tires go bald.
and left the top down
when it rained.
I didn't see the dings
on the side, the scratches
and tears in the seats
when you put the light on.
the headlights were
out of line, the brains of
it confused and short
circuited. I didn't see any
of that before I bought it.
I just the gleaming bumpers,
that just waxed shine.