struggling to turn over.
His shabby engine begins to pump,
pushing the fluids slowly through
his aged organs.
He regurgitates the thick, black oil,
spewing it all over the driveway below.
I push gently on the pedal
and he chokes on the gas,
hesitating for a moment
before he moves forward.
Bald rubber rotates along the black asphalt
as loose rims wobble in response.
His interior is frayed and torn,
worn down by years of abuse
from unruly children.
His body is dented, scratched, beaten,
Dirt nibbles away at his transmission,
as rust corrodes his small, tender frame
and gnaws at the outsides of his intestines.
His life has come to an end.
He hacks as he takes his last breath--
his headlights fade,
until eventually they go dark;
his battery, drained of life,
gives up and quits.
Quick! Get the jumper cables!