Car Crap

In order to fulfill my goal of reading a hundred books in a year, I'm finding myself reading a fair amount of poetry collections. These poems also seem to be provoking some of the poet in me (though over the years I know I've written hundreds, if not thousands of verses). Driving home on Thanskgiving with our fourth car (a 1993 Chevy 4X4 pickup) it occured to me that all of our cars now have over 100,000 miles on them, and our driveway looks like a used car lot. And since I'm sending all my money to Ball State and Uncle Sam, there' s no new car in sight. Hence, I had to wax poetical about my car-driving reality.

When You're Driving An Old Piece of Crap

Yes, you know that you're cheap
When you're driveway's a heap
Of plastic and metal and scrap.
But you really don't care,
Cause you're ridin' on air,
When you're driving an old piece of crap.

Oh, you pray for your wife,
Every day of your life,
That her days won't end in mishap,
As she drives to her work,
In a car that's a jerk,
When you're driving an old piece of crap.

Yes, some people zoom by,
With their nose in the sky,
And they'll flip you the bird as they lap.
But you don't give a dip,
You just chug down a nip,
When you're driving an old piece of crap.

And some friends drop in
Who believe that they'll win
With a Hummer putting them on the map.
So you take them a spin,
And they don't come again,
When you're driving an old piece of crap.

Yes, you're always in pain,
In the snow and the rain,
As you tighten yourself in the strap.
But you don't really care,
You just send up a prayer,
When you're driving an old piece of crap.

The best friends you knew,
Say "Trade up for the new",
When your wiper blades no longer clap.
But you know it . . . you feel
You'll just die at the wheel,
When you're driving an old piece of crap.