A poem I wrote about my flat left tire and broken down car.

1/27/24 – 9:50 AM Like your left back tire, I keep deflating everyday.
Short periods of sports mode drive, I find I run out of gas.
The A/C is off, so I'm sweating the small stuff too,
A recipe for a miserable ride.
At least the windows roll down, allowing fresh air in the meantime.
My ignition seems to be faulty too,
It's just hard for me to get started,
Regardless of the weather outside.
I turn and churn and yet my engine just doesn't start.
I've taken myself in for many checkups,
But the problem seems deeper than surface level.
There's some rattling deep within
That makes it impossible to get my wheels rolling sometimes.
More often than not, I'm the broken down car
sitting in your driveway, collecting branches and bird shit,
an eye soar for the whole neighborhood.
Even that junker can run for ten minutes before overheating,
When the battery is fully charged and the engine gassed up.
That's more my speed too these days.
Point A to point B and back again, no special trips.
Though turning it on is like a sputtering chain saw,
at least thirty seconds of fight-back every time.
How do I become a new car, primed to drive
One hundred thousand miles off the parking lot?
That's the journey I crave.