Red Car
The abandoned car stood on the waste ground,
rusting away, doors hanging off, leather seats ripped.
The children played there on warm summer days
but I was not allowed.
The place was dangerous
and the children were rough.
It was the first time I had ever been in a car.
I sat behind the wheel to drive it making
engine noises like a bus.
It was a black car.
In those days all cars were black.
Any colour you like, so long as it’s black.
I thought that a red one would have been nicer.
For the 2019 Summer Muses' Gallery, we asked poets to share their passion for driving and cars. Automobiles are a means of getting to a destination. In this collection, the car means much more. Car as machine and technological marvel. Car as identity. Car as culture. Car as freedom and liberation...


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