this years model

I finally get
rid of the old the car.
I couldn't take it any more.
the rust
and dings, the dents,
the exhaust.
she never turned over on a cold
morning,
when you really needed her.
she couldn't be trusted.
a high maintenance
piece of sheet metal that
once looked
good on the showroom floor.
all shiny and waxed
with a few new paint jobs,
but soon the tires
were low, the oil
too.
the windshield cracked.
you couldn't get a good song
on the radio.
she'd been around the block
more than a few times.
churches and flea markets,
rendezvous parks.
she'd seen better days
with me at the wheel,
but I gave it a ride, and
now it's time to let her go
to the junk yard
where she'll be crushed
into a block of metal
for scrap. she was an okay
car.
not my favorite of all time,
but we had our moments.
time for a new ride, a new
sleek model, this years or
the next.
one that goes fast,
true and solid when she
hugs the road,
and me,
no looking back.