Beetle Is Better Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

I have always had a thing for beetles,
conceived by Dr. Porsche way back then.
Don't you just love the sound,
the boxer huff and puff, a cough of tin?
Though there are downsides, I must say
cramped quarters, rattly springs, the heat
that works when one ascends a moderate rise,
a horn with scratchy tunes, a brake so bad
it is mechanical, of course, will take both feet,
McPherson's came to rescue, fixed the sway,
but wallowing is still a trait, it also hops.
Come to a flooded road, a creek, a swollen stream,
it takes you through with pride, a beetleboat.
I say all other cars really do smell, they stink,
their colours turn me off, the way they drive
turn corners sans aplomb and with a leftist lean.
My plates, one in the front and one behind,
say STEREO (leading edge) and TYPE (the very back)
condemn the velocipeds, and the magnificent machines,
not one comes even close, to mine, the real people's car.

Note: Any racial slurs are entirely intentional