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
undoubtedly
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
friends
and
memories.
No comments:
Post a Comment