Friends With Cars Poem by Ronald Strickland

Friends would arrive and raise their hoods.
A turn of a wrench.
Tap tap with the tool.
Adjustment of the carb.
To make the engine idle smooth.
With a kick of the tires,
it's ready to roll.
Old cars come and go
with friends and stories told.
Now with the hi-tech of the automobile,
the shade tree mechanic can only scratch his head and say,
'I just don't know? ' while looking about.
Where did all the friends go?