If only the dirt and dust

could ever get off

my green hide.

My cold, non-running

engine that I couldn’t start

myself if it wanted to.

I have that loose screw

just barely holding that bucket

waiting for the straw

that breaks the camel’s back.

The gold letters


ever so fading my side.

My two light posts just

held taught by three

questionably sturdy bungee cords.

Yet when the key is turned

inside me, I feel alive again.

Racing down the property

only to come back in minutes

I am shut down.

Yet I wait for the chance for the

same experience.

Every time.

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