by Susan Cameron
I loved that car. It was
Hard-working, reliable and fun –
The perfect partner, yes?
But car years are like dog years.
So at fifteen,
Unless there was costly life support,
My Saturn was at the end of the final road.
The air conditioning fan had failed, so
I listened, window down, as we squeaked
To a halt at the stop light –
Listened to the death rattle of the exhausted engine,
Clattering despite the half-quart of oil it drank a week –
Smelled the faint whiff of sulfuric rotten egg
From the failed catalytic converter
Making its way through the rumbling muffler
And out the rusty tailpipe
As we headed to the junkyard.
But it was a good car, a great car, a noble car,
Even as it struggled and gasped –
A dying car
From a dead division
Of a near-dead car company
In the dying city of Detroit –
My Saturn, tough and gutsy to the end,
Knowing this was a good day to die,
Sang mariachi music at the top of its lungs
And I saluted
As it headed to the crusher.
copyright 2010, Susan Cameron
