PS Cottier

Before the Mustang

It was reliable, comfy as ug boots,
and just about that chic.
Grey, four cylinder, economical,
totally unAmerican.
Not a hint of speed or sprawl.
It was even easy to park,
and slid out of view
before anyone noticed it.
If you wanted to be a spy,
or a private eye, this car
would be the one for you.
You could dwell outside a house
for weeks, before anyone
thought that there was something to see,
something resembling a car.
I loved it, my first new car.
I hated it for its bland compliance
with a view of what should be.
It broke down exactly once,
and the police were hugely surprised.
It had a cavernous boot for shopping,
and no-one raced it from the lights,
making sport from nothing.
It is gone now, but I’m sure
someone is driving it, somewhere,
that grey slab of suburban metal,
that practical lump of sleep.

PS Cottier

Yes, I know that's not a Mustang!  But I had to share a photo of this beautiful object spotted at my local shops.

The poem above appeared in the volume V8, written by myself and Sandra Renew, published in 2022 by Ginninderra Press.