Comfort Poem by John Sensele

Let them be as cars,
Always fuelled, driven, pampered and polished,
But exploited on township and country roads.

I'd rather be a rugged, white Corolla,
Delivering reliable service, like a valet
Guzzling gas like vacuum cleaners.

To have undergone panel beating and received a coat of paint,
To swerve, to deal with traffic jams
Nascent, nubial Kitwe City.
To be caressed by kisses of my master's family members,
Comforting my fortitude, my solace,
Beyond pecuniary rewards or into annals of history.

I'd rather lie low, and if
Then displaced by new limousines,
Than to be a gleaming car,
Soaring in stature on Japanese junk yards,
Where they're jettisoned, crated, and despatched
To Zambia by fatigued car dealers.