The sports car slingshots past me,

The morning sun sparkling

Off its shining silver skin,

Its license plate singing.


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.

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