Muscle Car

My car and I have much

In common.

We are older models,

No frills, American made.

Muscle all the way.

Going slow when days

Are grey with ice,

Threatening snow.

The reservoir for windshield fluid

Is empty in my car.

A leak somewhere underneath

Dries it out when I need it most.

I refill it (now and then)

Vowing each time to get it fixed.

The place where my tears

Waited for release is empty, too.

My eyes remain cynical and dry

With the dirt and grime that comes

From the pain I see in front of me

And that I leave in the past.

I’ll fix it (me) next time.

Later.

After I need it most.