They said an expensive operation
could save her,
but she had no insurance.
I tried to take her home,
But they'd fucked her up worse when they moved her;
She couldn't even get up.
I was lost and scared, so I left her there and hitched home.
I found my next one easy;
She was young, but street-smart.
I picked her up on the roadside near home.
The last guy who'd had her was a chain-smoker.
He'd rolled her a few times, but she looked okay, considering.
So I took her home.
But it turned out, she was messed up worse than I thought.
She was all cut up inside, though she tried not to show it.
I knew she wanted me, but she was desperate,
More desperate than I was,
So I left her where I found her.
I know the new ones come clean,
But they make you pay dear for it!
Thursday, I went back to Bess.
When they took off her bandages,
She smiled at me.
I welcomed her back.
She's not pure or pretty anymore,
But then, neither am I.
We drove by that old rolled Chevy today,
Still by that roadside.
She was alone, no plates, not even a for-sale sign.
I knew then
that cars' hearts break, too,
just like ours.
-Bram Moreinis