The Right Not To Be Repaired

The wheels go ever round and round

at least until they finally stop

Then jury-rigged repairs abound

until the balding tires pop

My old Mercedes wagon had

Enough duct-tape to wrap the moon

It drove ok but looked quite sad

Like class repaired by a buffoon.

My Bug at least is something fit

For hippie work with random parts

From Chevy, Dodge, and just a bit

of Studebaker--hey at least it starts

With paint-sticks, glue, and bits of string

I hold my rag-top's roof together

And old newspaper is the thing

that keeps me dry--until there's weather!

Old cars have found a place to die

An automotive burial ground

To that belief I put the lie

And force the cars to stick around!

Bruised Mercedes Wagon, Mountain View, CA, 2017

Bad Rhymes