Reservations Poem by Henry Antony

I’m spending the night in a convertible,
Huddled under stratospheric clear skies
The wind blowing over the lip of the car.
It might drain the battery
But I’m leaving the stereo on all night
To help me sleep

I awake in the early hours, as the sun is starting to rise
And the night is chastely retreating behind,
Lonesome old pedal guitar sounds from the stereo,
Plaintive man singing his misery country words
I switch it off and jerk the old motor to life
And drive away
Leave just a patch of gas from the old engine on the floor
And a few echoes.