I confess to not loving you at the start.
Me thought you old and ugly.
But you wormed your way into my heart.
Your faithful service wracked up the Ks on your clock.
You saw me through one of the toughest times of my life,
As the gloss came off my middle-aged existence.
We found ourselves both a little dinged and dented.
Your silver patina speckled by the elements.
My thinning hair and swelling spare tyre.
Still, you stood by your man and started first time, every time.
The road was long; and now you’re parked for the final song.
I am awaiting the arrival of the wrecker.
Staring at your chassis, sans number plates.
My silver Kia Spectra.
How will I move on without your ride?
What will the days and nights provide?
My old friend, who rattled and rolled to this final destination.
I knew your parameters, as you knew mine.
Your surges and your slow stops,
Your intermittent indicators and your rusty rear window wiper arm.
You understood my solo journey through the back blocks.
My silver spectra, now in the rear view mirror.
Thanks for the support and your unrelenting engine.
You were the shabby exterior of my decline.
Me, I was the bloke behind your wheel.
Together we got there, usually on time.
Farewell old buddy, until we meet again in the endless cosmic dust of space and time.
Robert Hamilton