You’re ugly, and that is no lie.
You leak fluids, a rainbow of oils and coolant.
Rust holes so big, I’ll need a tetanus shot.
Your tires, all bald and cracking, in the heat like a desolate desert.

The interior isn’t so bad, again no lie.
The soft, tan seats are mottled with light stains.
What can I infer about the previous owners?
Small holes from cigarette burns answer that question. 

As I drive you, fear of unreliability wracks my mind.
The smell of burning rubber permeates through the air vents.
I pray it isn’t you, not a serpentine belt ripped.
Maybe it’s the other people, in their spotless, 2014 beauties.

You’re loud, like a lawnmower on a summer’s day.
The holes in the exhaust are so large,
how did you pass inspection?
Oh that’s right, you barely did.

Yes, you have flaws.
You’re a 20 year old rust bucket.
You get me anywhere and everywhere I need to go.
You haven’t let me down, so I won’t let you down.

Oil change today? My treat.