by

Christine Mueller

 

     

The rain that streaks the fractured old window

Falls from a sorrowful lead-bellied sky.

The grieving wind blows sad and lax with woe

Mourning a passing that creepeth on nigh.

 

Oh, her heart is troubled and grumbles with age

Her hands are weak as they brush at wet tears.

The needle shies short of the top of her gauge

She whirs her clutch when she slips out of gear.

 

The tears of rain slide off her roof in clots

And pool in sad puddles 'round her soft tires

As if the water could heal her rust spots

Or wipe way the scars of rude red pliers.

 

And time is tightening its noose around her

The future holding nothing but junkyards

Though perhaps delayed by sale to some sir

Before she's parked 'mongst other discards.

 

Oh, Red Dragon how patiently you sit!

So noble e'en though your great engine fails

Your lines are stylish despite the rust pits

Your painted dragon still swishes its tail.

 

Memories are drawn on you in scrapes and spills

Transporting back to fine times on road trips

The smell of years in the morning cold chills

Roaring good music and speedy straight strips.

 

The bucket driver's seat wordlessly waits

Its arms stretched out to cradle close and tight

The hood peers forth unaware of its fate

And, oh, I wish its future I could rewrite.

 

Red Dragon, Red Dragon, we wish farewell

Your loyal rumble shall always remain

Echoing mixed with that coming sad knell

When we'll smile through the rain despite our pain.