See I-- this poem I sang-- read at a high school earlier today
and I was hoping that maybe they would--
I don't know if they all had as much emotional attachment
to their cars as I did.
But I did.
And this is a poem for my fabulous Volkswagen Bug
that I had when I was 16.
So it's called "Wheels."
"You can't have anything forever, not your bride
or your skin, not even your trusty Volkswagen.
The joke is on us.
The body and the bed may not be a body at all,
but bed made to look like body.
When you thought a beloved was about to enter
it wouldn't have mattered.
They were all actors.
Sometimes you need a prop to go through with it.
Other times you need to stand among low brown hills
empty handed.
Oh, perfect silver Bug, you overheated only once.
I was 17, and I was driving back to the place
where I learned how to be alone."