returned from highways, conversations; soon
the aging gears and memories of oil
will seep the loneliness of their own tune.
The country drives they had were nicely green
and silver-lined with creek-like sceneries;
the city limits came upon the scene
to smear idyllic hours, robbing peace.
The rat race tested out their usage well
until repairmen worked and cleaned with care
and dignity; their working hours fell
to sunset, cursed with ageless wear-and-tear
that saw this day of rot with no surprise
since luck's long curse of truth's now undisguised.
copyright 2009 Tom Mutchler



