Red used to be my favourite colour.
I’d just get Tinkerbell (my 1983 Mitsubishi Colt)
cruising nicely at sixty kilometres an hour
I’d have to slow down.
Pump the brakes.
Change gears gingerly in case her clutch drops out….
An old girl now, she needs TLC…
takes her time to build up speed,
then I see red. (Or orange.)
But, once she’s there (sixty K.’s) she sings like a bird.
I think it reminds her of her youth.
I’ve tried dressing her up (covering the rust).
The silvers don’t match and I know she feels the shame.
The petrol pump makes her feel better.
Once I insert that nozzle,
she almost smiles.
Her seat greets me tenderly
and we smoothly swing away,
high on fumes.
a young man washed her windows.
She sparkled and purred.
Yes. Red used to be my favourite colour.
Now mottled shades of silver have loyal appeal!
From my first book of poems, "Hidden Capacity ~ a poet's journey" published in Ireland 2003.
If you prefer to hear this poem read aloud, go to YouTube: