Eulogy for a First Car
I met Janet in surprise.
Planted on the concrete of
my driveway when I was 16-going-
on-17 and she was 12-going-on-13.
My Uncle laughed and said
“You’re lucky if you get a year out of it.”
My first car was the color of dried
mud and the interior was stained and
scratchy. She was
well sat in from previous owners who, I can only hope,
loved her like I did.
My first and only car was named
She lost her door handle in the winter of ‘13
her rear-view mirror in ’14
her left headlight in ‘15
her radio buttons, one by one, ’12 to ‘16
We opened her doors with zip-ties and
on the highway she’d jump from tires
that didn’t quite fit. I grew
comfortable driving with
the check engine light lit.
My sweet Janet was a piece of shit.
Survived by a family of
fighters over who’s turn it was to
drive or sit in the front. She watched
all three of us get licensed and grow
Janet, an inextricable character in the coming-of-
age epic I kissed
all of my high school crushes in her seats.
I was asked to prom, the pinnacle of suburbia,
through the drivers-side window.
She sat with me through heart-to-hearts and through tearful
goodbyes and tearful nothings..
Janet, who wasn’t supposed to outlast 2011, grew to the ripe old age of
19 (which is one-hundred-and-two in car years, of course)
Janet, legally a car, but more accurately a half-functioning
bike on steroids.
Janet, with you I was the luckiest girl.
Rest In Peace 1998–2017
******IF YOU ENJOYED THIS ONE CLICK LIKE AND FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM @POETBABY************