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A Study in Fading Cars

Kenneth, loves satire and writings to spotlight others, but he also has an "addiction" so to speak, to dramatic and abstract/prose poetry.

A few rusty memories.

A few rusty memories.

There She Rolled By

chrome shining like the noon day sun. I caught her eye. She caught mine

I almost fainted at viewing such beauty, although she being a noisy machine

Then I was hyptonized by her new smell of her seats and her perfect lines.

She rolled slowly, classy, roof of white, body of green.

Man, what a car she was.

I was just 17, ready for driving, ready for a woman's love

Sweaty hands did not become me as I walked toward her

She winked and I was hooked by that secret love from above.

I stammered, fumbled to find the words, and heard that cat-like purr.

Man, what a car she was.

She was the type that made me leave my home--

Most times I slept in the backseat all alone.

No job. No cash. Nothing but a beating heart so blue

I awoke and found two-dollars, I was thin as a bone.

Man, what a car she was.

She was many times my shelter, my warmth, my hope in the sunshine

A haven of soft retreat. No words could explain . . .

I found myself in a trance-like state, talking to her in poems line-by-line.

Then I would fall to the ground, stuttering, she was laughing in my pain.

Man was a car she was.

Time reveals himself such an enemy taking what he wants, when he wants

I was shackled by poverty, little hope, just a carseat to find rest.

She just giggled and stayed quiet. I did catch her winking, boldly taunting.

I was beaten to the soul. I surrendered to her alone. I failed her test.

Man what a car she was.

Resting in peace. Finally.

Resting in peace. Finally.

© 2019 Kenneth Avery

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