Dear Passat,

Or should I say Piss Ant-

 

You left as fast as you came,

but aged, as though every wheel rotation

was the mark of a century.

I wasn't the first to own you,

yet i saw decay, as if your entire

life was spent on me.

First it was the AC,

then the window's capabilities,

and lastly, my will to be

committed to you any longer.

I can still hear the buzz

of your four blown out speakers,

cheering me on, 

in all my beginner driver's dreams.

I miss you and feel bent

like your back right axle,

if only I could replace my sadness,

like I did your tires,

twice a year.

At last I drive a Sentra,

reliable and clean compared

to every beautiful burden

that resides now in junkyard heaven.

This is an ode to you, my first,

you were absolutely the worst.

 

With the fondest of afflicted memories,

K.S.