Visiting my Volkswagon After Selling It for Junk

She squats nervously
on swollen blue haunches,
staring straight ahead, unblinking,
The silent treatment.

I won't press her.
I don't want to get in an argument here
In front of all these other cars.

I wanted to say good-bye, I explain.
She stares, bitter and hurt,
her bowels ripped out
and piled in the back seat.

I'll always remember you,I tell her.
Can't we still be friends?

Staring, stoic,
she makes me feel rotten.
I whisper good-bye from my bicycle
and remind her it's not as if
there was someone else.

Copyright © 1999 by Curt Anderson