A Poem for Today

When I look at the old car

backed into the cleared-out space in the shed,

I can almost understand

those bewildered men who leave

their softening wives in middle age, up-

and-walk-out after decades

of marriage and family, to take up

with some buffed and waxed young thing

with great lines, horsepower

to burn and a dazzling array

of untested equipment.

When I look at the old car's

headlights, dulled with disuse and staring

at me, as if to say, What did I ever do?

Wasn't I always good to you?

Turned over every morning, rain or snow

to start your day? Kept you safe

all these years, mile after mile?

And I'm filled with guilt and say with feeling

You're absolutely right. You were the best. There'll never

be another you, as I glance surreptitiously

at my cute new model sitting in the old car's space

in the garage and explain, You just got old.

You're falling apart. And besides, I say,

I've fallen in love. We're already living together.

And the old car looks like it might be wired

to explode.

So I walk across the yard

and look at the new car,

and it occurs to me that before too long

the new car will be old, the suspension

will sag and things will fall off.

And like the lout who'll use up

his young fling and want to trade in again,

we'll deny that we've put on some miles ourselves,

dump this one in the shed and go shopping —

until someone lays a firm hand on our arm

and says Enough. You just can't drive any more.

"When I Look at the Old Car" by Marcia F. Brown, from What on Earth.

 © Moon Pie Press, 2010.