We’ve got two cars—Forerunner twelve years old,
Lexus, eighteen. We don’t drive much but still
Time counts and, even more than wear, takes toll.
The sensors fail, gaskets rot, fluids spill,
Brakes, tires thin, and dreaded maintenance
Shrieks its need. We could, of course, buy pristine
New cars, eschew repairs, flaunt wealth, enhance
Our stark lives. But we felt, somehow, demeaned
By such defeat—besides, could not abide
Dealing with new and strange technology.
So we spent eight grand! Sucked it in and sighed,
Resigned those wrecks to major surgery.
At vigil’s end, we welcomed home that pair—
Slick with new cartilage, veins freed of plaque
Well shod, knees firm, heart timed, bright neurons flared.
What’s more, we’re sixty thousand in the black!
(2/15/10)