BMT 459A

A poem based on a black+white photo of a Beetle sitting in a garage, dismantled.

You never saw this picture.
This car was your pride and joy.
I think it would kill you
To see it this way.
Scratched, dusty, eager to retire.
Dismantled, in somebody else’s garage.
You loved that car
They way I loved you.
But you never understood.
Now that love
Lies cold and lifeless,
Like your car.
A mere shadow of its former self.