It's Still Life

That Car Was God’s Triumph

That’s what Dad always said.
He loved his old Ford Victoria,
though Lord knows why.

The drivers door had a croaking creak,
the floor puddled after a rain,
and the brakes froze-up like a fridge.

Remember how you fixed the fan belt
with bark from a twig?

It was baroque black, fit for mourning.
Shined as if it were shellacked.
White sidewalls, and curb feelers
so as to not scuff the wheels.

You sold it for a Comet.
We named it Haley.

Written for Miz Quickly’s Day 8 Today we’re aiming for rhyme and sound, or words that don’t rhyme but we’re insisting they do, or words that nearly rhyme, which is what I’ve attempted. Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI, and is identified as such in the ALT text or captioned. Images are copyright and not to used without permission, which I willingly give when asked, and when not for commercial use. Imagery and poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2024.