I’ve a new car:
well, new to me like a girlfriend,
not new to the world like a baby.
It’d been still for years,
warm and garaged, kept and maintained,
unused, unmoved, a trophy, not a means.
I spent too much than meant
returning it to minor roads
so I could use it formally.
Of course, on that first drive,
something had to fail;
the fuel return escaped.
My wallet–emptyingly expensive petrol
was gushingly donated
to the road drainage system.
I stopped immediately;
some bastard chucking a lit stub
could have exploded me.
On all the country roads,
in all the country villages,
I broke down outside an old local.
It was lunchtime,
on this, winter’s coldest day yet.
The RAC said a two hour wait.
The pub was shut.
Thanks, Robin, for letting me in anyway.
I owe you one.
Would you perchance appreciate a pint, landlord?