So I'm more than a little bit miffed
As I stare at my car on the lift
And the thought of expense
Makes me just a bit tense
As they call in the afternoon shift!
There's a noise that the car always makes
As it pulls to the left, and then shakes--
It's a terrible sound--
It goes "Yeah, that's around
Seven hundred to drop on the brakes".
The finale, that just gets my goat--
The mechanic gets ready to tote
Up the numbers, then sees
Some additional fees
Based on payments he needs for his boat!
(disclaimer: I actually do really like this mechanic and this shop. The last one, though...)
I suspect that this is a common enough theme that I can just leave it with three, and my amazing commenters will soon put me to shame!
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6 comments:
Although my black Saab, it will roll,
and take me quite well to my goal,
it empties my wallet
and therefore I call it –
but not to its face – my Black Hole.
Though I'm not old enough
I love all this car stuff
I'm not quite sure
Of things so obscure
But I find mechanics quite gruff.
Not to say this is a bad thing
I love a car whose engine sings
But I find sometimes
Beneath all that grime
Their brains are not quite in full swing.
Though I do have to say
If they should deign to repay
My opinion of them
And also condemn
Each other, it'd quite make my day.
(And if I sound vindictive
My opinion is restricted
Only to stores
I've encountered before
And by you it has been contradicted.)
To get four new tires installed,
The car shop I finally called,
I asked, "Can you please
Find replacements for these?"
For the rubber was totally bald!
"The oil we also will change.
We find it exceedingly strange:
After eight thousand mile,
You still took a while;
What are you lady? Deranged?"
Four tires, two belts, and the oil,
Plus money for labor and toil.
When he gave me my bill
And opened the till,
From the price I did truly recoil.
Greetings! My name is Thomas, and if you follow the link you might be able to figure out why it's got a different name.
I've been puzzling together my first (here) limerick since last Friday -- and then that second one just appeared as I was writing this.
Thanks, Cuttlefish, for your outlook, your wonderful poetry, and for inspiring my poetic muse!
An atheist Baltimore man
Was surfing the 'net with no plan
Found a poem one night,
And laughed with delight,
And now he's a Cuttlefish fan!
Fast, smooth, quiet -- my car sure ain't,
And the price of fuel makes me feel faint,
The brakes need repairing
(And perhaps the rod bearings),
But look -- it's got awesome paint!
(No, really: http://www.readersadvice.com/museum/Jetta.html )
Ode to a 1990 Taurus
(I no longer have this car, but its memory lives on.)
Starting - for cars - is essential,
Trustworthiness quite quintessential.
I insist my car start
Without stutter or fart -
A requirement not inconsequential.
So I bribed it with gifts, fine and classy,
Like gas, oil and bling for its chassis.
That sedan looked quite meek
But it masked a technique…
To conspire with mechanics. How brassy!
I bought it a spanking new starter.
(‘Cause the garage did not countenance barter.)
A mechanical dork
Tried to rev up its torque,
But no luck; it still acted the martyr!
And when it became, like, all snooty,
I lavished upon it more booty:
A new engine block.
(For that I sold stock!)
‘But it still didn’t give one darned hootie!
That Taurus, a malingering faker!
A devious, expensive heart-breaker.
It had sleazy affairs
In mechanic-shop lairs,
So I ditched that two-faced trouble maker!
Okay, for all you real poets out there...
I know it's not an ode; it's a limerick. But “ode” has more literariocity, so I took just a little poetic license. So sue me! Hey, cars require a license, don’t they?
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