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Old Rusting Car

there it is
wasting in the sun:
a rotting whale.

the weeds grow around it like a disease,
around the drive shaft
and the wheel rotors,
and the old white-walls that hang there
like four withered stumps,
speaking of dust,
decay,
and terminal uselessness.

a swarm of bees have made their home
in the steering column

they buzz around
like a churchyard full of yammering old women,
arrogant and haughty
pointless in their projections
but vicious all the same.

they buzz around patrolling the dying demesne,
stinging
the unlucky passer-by,
like the old grease-smeared dog
who sniffs around
the unhinged door that grates in the wind,
looking for a place to piss.

no one knows when this old rusting car
was abandoned here,
amidst these slow movements of wreckage,
it just sits there,
wasting in the sun.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: May 2010
About this poem:
This started as political allegory, but ended up an exercise in pure imagery. I think! ;)

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Comments (3)

agoodguy2have
"Ok" he says as he slowly walks around it, eyeing it and me suspiciously, "how much you take for it?"... a nice drive ;-]
gnj4u
Hi, RobinsonCrusoe,
I am intrigued by the weeds grow around it, like a disease,. For me, this statement transformed junk into something entirely different. Thank you for sharing.
jazzy75
RobinsonCrusoe - repurposed!!...love your poem and descriptive images...nicely done!
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by Unknown
on May 2010
369 Views
Last Viewed: Oct 18
Last Commented: Jun 2010

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