The sports car slingshots past me,
The morning sun sparkling
Off its shining silver skin,
Its license plate singing.
“Upbeat,”
As it effortlessly slides
Through the Monday morning
Commute increasing
The distance
Between us.
It’s been years since
I’ve had a car
That stated anything,
Or even asked for attention,
My weather worn Hyundai
After a decade
Still as efficient and anonymous
As the workers who assembled it.
Road weary,
Taken for granted,
Too humbled
To demand tags
That grumble
A bashful
“Beat Up,”
To the heedless world
Brashly passing by.
Gruenewald works for Learning Ally in West Windsor. He is the author of The Secret History of New Jersey.
