Friday, March 14, 2014

73. I Love ... My Old Red Van

Sixteen years old
when I had to
release her,
which iwas done only because
of the uncertainty 
that she might fail me 
and leave me
stranded one day.
I doubt it she would have.
Friends don't do that.
And we were.

I never grew tired
of that old girl.
I never wanted to get
a fancy new replacement for her.

I always felt good 
walking up to her,
climbing in and heading off.

Even though other people
saw a dated, tired, old van,
I saw her as my trusty old friend.

I sometimes talked to her 
like she could hear me -
thanking her for starting after months of waiting,
telling her I missed her.
Because I did.

Weird, I know.
But perhaps she knew it.
She lasted way longer than most.

She was one of the good ones,
my Red Wagon -
almost 400 Thousand kilometers
we went together.

Filled with rusty bits 
and other treasures
from the sea;
filled with

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