Booktastic Buick Skylark, and the means
For my commute most of the year. He's black
With red inside and sleek, like most machines
About which poems are written. Yesternoon
Upon the summit where the fog did spread
My Jack got thirsty. Though we'd be home soon
I'm told his type is best not run to red,
So (secret) Trading Post got it some trade.
But from the way my Jack's behaving now
I'm thinking that the gas was lower grade
Than is quite right. He's sluggish as a cow
At lower speeds, though he can still go fast.
We barely made it home tonight. Damnblast!