Till Death Do Us Part


- Written for : 
Michael Carmichael -

I just bought a new (to me) used car,
and I want to vomit.
Every time I turn it on,
I'm sure that it will fail.
The dealer smiled and took my cash,
the websites say it's going to last,
I got the Carfax,
paid the sales tax,
and checked the Kelly Blue.
I brought a friend,
and during the spin,
I asked, "What would you do?"

He said, "bla, bla, bla, value, bla, reliable, bla, bla, toyota, bla, i mean it's not new, but, bla"
and
"ultimately, it's your choice".
Tuning him out, and feeling the doubt
peeking up through the rich and black soil,
I acknowledged the age, and the chipping of paint, the dents, and the very small trunk.
The weird looking gauge, and the powerful rage if, this man is just selling me junk.

The transmission could tremble,
the boosters could burst,
the fluids could bubble and drip,
the motor could drop,
the roof could just flop,
the bearings could stumble and slip.
Or just bursts into flames
on the highway tomorrow,
 pay up for a tow truck,
and drown in my sorrow.

Or this could be magic!
A lifetime of friendship!
With love back and forth, like a fairy tale carriage,
a contract so strong, that it's kind of a marriage:

               A bond that is made, that is built upon trust,
               that is oiled and maintained, making sure not to rust.
               And over some time, you just get up and go,
               no fear, and no pause,
               just effortless flow.

But none of that sweet stuff
is in my heart now,
I'm turning the key,
and waiting for KA-POW! Eeeeeeeeeeek!!! Psh-psh-pshshsh *?$%! FFFFFFFfffffffffffffffffff........

But that doesn't happen,
and this time it starts,
I'm joyful and proud,
and
nervous and scared,
because now all of its parts,
I've accepted and declared:

You are mine.
I have chosen you.
You are locked in my heart.
Till death, or divorce, or disaster (like severe flooding or hail)
(or an armed robbery where I can't get over the fear associated with the event) do us part. 


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