Abandoned Car Poem by Raj Dronamraju

Whenever I would drive over to your house
I would pass an abandoned car, a small four door model, off white color
A model that is no longer made seen on a side street
Parked next to a vacant lot

I saw love on the concourse
And the hysteria it no longer finds useful
The hood pops up of its own accord
A collection of tickets under one windshield wiper

There is no love on country roads
Only heat mist rising off the black top
And many miles between gas stations
And between the left to die moments of outgrown epoch

Our epoch was four to a car and a struggle over who drives and who sits where
And napping in the backseat and desperate utility clambering over a tight uncomfortable soul
One day, you'll find a tow truck has taken away what sentiment could not say farewell to