novembre

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say goodbye to zaftig baby

the caramelized crunch when the antifreeze runs out, the rattle that tells me the turbocharger is gorging on oil

for five years i have driven you into your grave. 169,200 miles to be slightly exact. 42 trips 6 hours south and back. 3 to la.

you made it to portland in one day, 23 hours, losing only your muffler in sacramento.

i am used to things falling off. brake pedal covers. door handles. entire seats.

i am used to the smell of oil burning. the spasm when you stall at stoplights
the sunroof that doesn't keep out the rain, the rusted rims, the black spray-painted bike rack.

in 2 weeks you will scuttle south one last time.

remember the suitcases crammed with cassettes, the antifreeze and oil packed into the rear seat just in case, the cigarette burns my grandmother left in your upolstery

5:37 pm - 03.14.02

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