My car may be little and have a few minor flaws,

the door doesn't quite open,

the hood doesn't quite close.

It's mine, though,

every dent, I know them all,

every rust spot,

even the muffler that drags.



Both headlights work,

but only on low beam.

And the horn is alright,

it goes (albeit weakly) beep! beep!

The window has a crack,

impairing my vision ... just barely, though.

Oh, did I mention to you about my radio?

I can hear the Chipmunks - Theodore, Simon and, of course,

ALVIN! - with every tape that's put in.



My car isn't just a car either.

It's also my storage shed and confidante, as well.

If ever I have a bad day,

I can fling my stuff in the back,

scream and shout and swear,

and my car gives me no lip (or should I say bumper).

It just listens as the best of friends do.



Oh, my car, my car, my car ...

Although its tendency is to go quite slow,

it gets me where it is I want to go ...

so far ...