I first set headlights on your parents
A young couple
Two wrinkled babies and a little stick-haired girl.
That was you.
Driving and listening to those little brats cry all the time.
While you sat quiet in the backseat.
You were such a funny little girl.
I remember when your crazy grandmother borrowed me to drive you
With your no-less-crazy aunt by her side
Something wasn't right
I felt it as soon as they started me
It wasn't my engine...something wasn't fastened.
As your grandmother ground my brakes and pumped my gas
Making me worry about getting into a fight with another car if we collided
I felt your little toddler hands clutching me like a lifeline.
"Don't worry, Nana, I'm holding on," you called.
Crazy little tyke you were
But braver than a little wolf pup
I remember when the two other kids came.
Oh glory! Barf on the seats all the time.
For five years I smelled like sour milk.
I still smell like sour milk sometimes.
Your father was the worst though.
Leaving pastrami in my backseat.
So a mouse could get in and chew on my poor chairs.
Or that time he got sardine oil on my carpet
That smelled horrible for a month
But I think the gasoline was the worst.
Your cousins weren't so pleasant either
Especially the little squeaky one
Who borrowed her mother's perfume
And doused my seats with it
I really wish you people would take care of me better
After all, I take you everywhere.
But I'm happy now
For you to be driving me
Off to college
Cause you're all grown up now
And I'm grateful that you haven't replaced me
I'm your van