I’ve driven her ten thousand miles

from the cooling song of April

into the earthy soil ways of May

then along the slow stovetop burn of June

into the rasping caverns of July and August.

She’s parked now, somewhere in Nebraska

a state stretched out in an impossible yawn

of flatlands tinted with cow pat and rest stops.

A mostly silent companion as her radiator

tinkled with anticipation over

every Colorado highway and byway and mountain pass,

carrying me from trailhead to townships

and back to a temporary home again.

She enjoyed waiting for me as I gorged on summer

the juices spilling from my playful eager mouth.

She’d lean her seat back and roll her windows down

every moment within her like a hug

from a friend who never tires of loving you.

Dirt had it’s way of dancing across the dashboard,

little love notes from rocky roads rumbled down

wipers working overtime on her smudged windshield.

I’ve loved her, this old Subaru

for ten thousand miles.

And I wonder:

will she — could she– give me

ten thousand more?