Her gray upholstery smeared
with only the finest bbq stains,
decorates the deteriorated foam
that cradles you and me.

Through the thick dust,
her check engine light flashes.
perfectly framed by
the break in the worn out wheel.

Hitch rusted in place
from the thousands of lbs
of your livestock
she has carried in her day.

She still plays our favorites like we were at
the Grand Ole Opry.
Just loud enough to drown out our ­untuned voices
coming from her seats.

The only air fresheners she's ever seen
were those nights driving back to your place.
Singing our songs, dancing with the yellow line,
letting the summer air roll in.

She never could go too fast, so speeding
was never an issue. Instead
we'd crack warmed cans,
toasting to anything we could think of.

Under the seats is where you find
her Lost and Found. Home to
our matchless spurs, a moldy fry,
maybe a coke can or a Marb Red filter.

And even though her back doors didn't
unlatch we'd still find a way
to sneak back to that stiff bench seat
and find each other again.

Through all the break downs,
tears shed, and make ups,
no one can replace the memories.
Those memories of my first love.